


"Bell, Book & Candle"

by Gaedhal



Category: Bell Book and Candle (1958), Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bell Book & Candle, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 65
Words: 100,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaedhal/pseuds/Gaedhal
Summary: 19-year-old Justin Taylor finds out that he's a member of a unique family -- they are all witches! When he goes to Greenwich Village to live with his Holroyd cousins he must learn to use his Power -- but will he use them on the tall, handsome mortal, Brian Kinney?I am now posting the remaining chapters of BB&C until the entire fic is complete here. Thanks for your patience!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: This story uses the background and some of the characters from the 1958 film "Bell, Book and Candle" but isn't going to be the same plot. Other QAF characters will appear, as well as characters from the film, especially Gillian, Queenie, and Nicky.  


* * *

Many years ago in a far away country of the Old World there lived Three Weird Sisters: Gwynyth, Morgan, and Victoria (who was always called Queenie because she detested the name Victoria). These sisters belonged to an ancient family, the Holroyds, noted for growing herbs, advising the locals on their love lives, and turning their enemies into toads. Actually, the last thing was only a rumor -- witches, which were what the Holroyds were, can't really turn their enemies into toads. However, they can make them think they are toads, which is just as effective.  
  
The Holroyds had lived in their little Village of Greenwich-on-the-Green for many generations, meeting up with other witches at the Four Corners of the Year to celebrate and dance naked under the stars. Sometimes one of the family would venture to the Great City and Beyond, a few even going over the Sea. But everywhere they went there was trouble. Most places didn't care for witches, for although people liked their herbs and ointments and love potions, they believed that thing about being turned into toads, which often made for uncomfortable situations for the Holroyds and other witch families. Getting burned at the stake or thrown into the local pond weighed down by rocks is tiresome after a while. The Old World was not a tolerant place and the New World, especially locations like Salem in the Colony of Massachusetts, didn't seem much better.  
  
But then came the Great War and in its wake the Three Holroyd Sisters felt a change blowing through the world. They heard of places where their kind could gather and live -- discreetly, of course -- without being threatened with either the stake or the pond. And so they took a ship and sailed across the Sea to another Village called Greenwich, which was in the middle of another Great City in the Former Colony of New York. And the sisters thrived there for a number of years.  
  
But came the day when Gwynyth and Morgan tired of the Village and the City. They were still country witches at heart, after all. And the two bought a small farm outside that other village of Salem in the Former Colony of Massachusetts and grew herbs that they supplied to their kindred all over the New World. Queenie stayed in Greenwich Village and enjoyed herself -- it was the Roaring Twenties and Queenie had a recipe for bathtub gin that could knock over a bull moose in rut, so she prospered very well, eventually buying a building all her own and renting out apartments in it.  
  
And it came that Gwynyth had two daughters, Jennifer and June, while Morgan had a daughter and a son, Gillian and Nicholas. All three girls were beautiful, but Gillian was especially so, with ash blonde hair and lavender eyes. She also had great power, far surpassing that of her mother, her brother, her cousins, and her aunts. It was rumored that her father had been a powerful sorcerer who had cast spells for the Government, turning the tide of the Great War, and, later, of the Great Depression, but no one was really sure -- fathers in witch families are nebulous things, not easily pinned down. But when the time came, Gillian went off to Wellesley and studied Anthropology, graduating at the top of her class and then traveling around the world -- Mexico, Haiti, the Belgian Congo, French Polynesia -- studying the Ancient Practices. When she came back she didn't return to the farm outside of Salem, but to Greenwich Village, where she opened up a shop in Queenie's building that dealt in tribal artifacts, which proved extremely successful. Her brother Nicky, having flunked out of Yale for making the Dean of Men think he was toad, soon joined her there. And Gillian, Nicky, and Queenie lived quite contentedly.  
  
Meanwhile, back at the farm, Gwynyth's older daughter June had settled into the family herb-growing business quite happily, but the younger daughter, Jennifer, was not so content. She hated the farm, she hated Salem, and she hated Greenwich Village. She hated being different. She hated the way people looked away or gave the sign against the Evil Eye when her family passed, yet visited them in the dark of night to buy potions and ointments and charms.  
  
Jennifer wanted the kind of normal life she saw at the picture show -- houses with white picket fences on quiet streets, mothers and fathers and their children eating dinner together and going to church on Sunday. No cauldrons bubbling in the backyard. No drying herbs hanging from the rafters. No cats prowling along the roof, yowling at the full moon. No dancing naked in the woods. Nothing un-ordinary.  
  
And so Jennifer did something very scandalous. Something that horrified the Holroyds and all of the other witch families from Salem to Greenwich Village. Jennifer "renounced." She denied her powers, her family, and her witch-nature. She ran away to Boston, got a job as a file clerk in an office, and married the son of the boss. An outsider.  
  
Craig Taylor was a man who only vaguely understood that his new bride came from a very strange clan. But they were from England or Wales or some such backward, un-American place, so that explained it. And Jennifer Holroyd Taylor, although incapable of actually falling in love with her husband -- witches can't fall in love, or blush, or cry, among other things -- was as happy as she could be in her lovely house with the white picket fence on a quiet street in another Village called Greenwich, this one in the former Colony of Connecticut.  
  
Happy, that is, until her beautiful little blond son, Justin, reached puberty.  
  
That's when all hell broke loose.  



	2. Chapter 2

When Justin was born Jennifer was thrilled beyond measure.  
  
First, he was a boy.  
  
Witch families like the Holroyds rarely had boys. Jennifer's cousin Nicholas had been the only male child of his generation among the local witches of Salem and his birth had been cause for great celebration. As a result, Nicky had grown up headstrong and spoiled by an extended group of fawning females. Even as an adult Nicky was pampered by his Aunt Queenie and indulged by his sister Gillian, who constantly lent him money and extricated him from unfortunate romantic entanglements.  
  
So baby warlocks were something to celebrate. But they were also a bit of problem, even among witches. Because warlock boys tended to grow up to be the kind of men who weren't terribly interested in women. Yes, they would share hot blood with a witch friend if she truly wanted a baby, but beyond that they tended to go their own way. Many mingled with outsiders to a dangerous extent. They often took mundane jobs or lived among mortals. And they only occasionally returned home to celebrate the Four Corners of the Year -- dancing naked in the woods with their mothers and sisters was not a top priority for most warlocks. They enjoyed dancing naked in different places, such as Key West or Fire Island, often with mortal companions.  
  
The second thing that thrilled Jennifer Holroyd Taylor was that her husband Craig was so pleased. Now that he had a perfect son he stopped asking uncomfortable questions about Jennifer's past. Stopped asking where her family lived and whether they were going to come to the Christening -- Jennifer shuddered at that one! Their little family seemed complete.  
  
Then came the War. Craig was drafted, but spent the duration sitting at a desk in Washington. The day after Craig took the train south, Jennifer's mother Gwynyth, sister June, and Aunt Morgan showed up at her door, demanding to see the boy child.  
  
"He's not one of us," Jennifer insisted. She made tea. Lipton's. With a teabag. That would show them!  
  
"He's a Holroyd," said Aunt Morgan, watching the lively four-year-old race around the Taylor's immaculate living room. "That can't be denied. Just look at him!"  
  
"He's a normal, ordinary little boy!" Jennifer retorted. "And that's that!"  
  
Her relatives went back to Salem and she heard from them once a year -- on Justin's birthday in December. That was a reminder that Jennifer and her son couldn't escape the past, no matter how hard she might try.  
  
And Justin grew up in a post-war period of prosperity, surrounded by the children of what would come to be called the Baby Boom. Greenwich, Connecticut was a place of privilege -- beautiful houses, wide green lawns, and two-car garages. And right before Justin turned ten, his sister Molly was born. Life seemed perfect for the Taylors.  
  
***  
  
Justin Taylor was a precocious child. He walked at eight months, talked in complete sentences not long afterwards, and picked up a pencil and began drawing pictures before he was two. But in all other ways he seemed normal. Ordinary. Exactly the way Jennifer wanted him to be.  
  
Sort of.  
  
Because Jennifer was seeing what she wanted to see and ignoring other signs.  
  
Ignoring the uncanny way Justin stared at things, concentrating in a way unusual for a small child.  
  
Ignoring the way Justin stayed awake late into the night, looking out the open window at the moon. Looking at the stars. Tasting the wind. Listening.  
  
Justin wasn't sure what he was listening for, but it was something. He knew that one day he would hear it, so he kept listening.  
  
Jennifer also ignored the way animals reacted to her son. Dogs balked when they came close to the boy, some growling and others whimpering and cowering as he bent to pet them. And cats followed him, their tails held high, as if he had a pocketful of fish. Once when they were vacationing at a lake resort in Vermont a frog hopped out of the water and right into Justin's lap. Later Justin insisted that the frog was talking to him, telling him secrets about the other campers.  
  
"What an imagination that boy has!" exclaimed Craig.  
  
"Yes," said Jennifer. "An imagination."  
  
Jennifer made certain that they never returned to that lake.  
  
Justin was a good student, but he was remote with other children. He spent most of his time alone in his room, listening to the radio or reading, or else out in the woods with his sketchpad, drawing.  
  
"Your son is a talented artist," said his teacher. "But he needs to make friends."  
  
"He's always been a loner," Jennifer replied. "He says the other children don't understand him."  
  
"This may be a problem when he gets to high school," the teacher warned. "Social skills are very important. You wouldn't want people to think he was... odd?"  
  
"Odd in what way?" said Jennifer, stung.  
  
"Oh, just... different," said the teacher, backing off. "Children can be so cruel."  
  
But puberty was what Jennifer really feared. That was when a witch's power really began to manifest itself. There seemed an innate connection between sexual awareness and the awakening of magic.  
  
When Justin was twelve he began to show certain other signs.  
  
"When I grow up I'm going to marry Johnny," he told his mother one fine spring day. Johnny Burke was a boy who lived two streets down. He was a tall, handsome, dark-haired boy who has been the star on their Little League team, while Justin had been the boy who couldn't hit, catch, or slide.  
  
Jennifer was startled. "Boys don't marry other boys. You know that," she said carefully.  
  
"Why not?" Her son's blue eyes were uncanny in their brightness.  
  
"Because they can't and that's that! Don't tell your father about this," Jennifer ordered.  
  
But Justin soon learned on his own what happened to boys who liked other boys too much.  
  
"Get away from me, you big fat queer!" shouted the outraged Johnny.  
  
Of course, Justin was neither big nor fat, but the other part was fairly undeniable, so he ended up with a bloody nose.  
  
"Boys will be boys," said Craig, secretly proud that his son was showing some sign of manliness, even if he was on the receiving end.  
  
"Yes," Jennifer agreed uneasily. "Boys will be boys."  
  
But now she was worried. Very worried.  
  
And a funny thing happened not long afterwards. Johnny Burke, who had been so gracefully athletic, began to show signs of clumsiness. Instead of hitting the baseball out of the lot, he missed even easy pitches. Before the ball had popped into his glove with ease. Now it bounced out or knocked him in the head. And when Johnny did get a hit, he tripped running the bases, falling on his face and getting one bloody nose after another.  
  
"What a shame," said Justin. "He should be more careful."  
  
And Justin grinned.  
  
It truly was curious.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

All through high school rather than fight his reputation as the Class Weirdo, Justin decided to embrace it.  
  
He openly read poetry, flaunted his love of opera and Broadway musicals, and carried his sketchpad everywhere he went. He befriended the eggheads and the outcasts, while mocking the athletes and cheerleaders who were the social elite. Some teachers, especially in the areas of Art, English, and Choral Music, loved him, but others at Greenwich High School were more than a little afraid of him.  
  
Strange things happened to people who crossed Justin Taylor. Nothing too extreme, but annoying things that seemed not to be coincidental. The first, of course, was the demise of Johnny Burke's athletic career. So bad did his luck become that by the time he was a junior, Johnny had been cut from the football team and deemed a hazard to himself on the baseball field. He dropped out and joined the Army, where he immediately shot himself in the foot during boot camp. When last sighted he was working as a gas pump jockey at a Texaco station in Bridgeport.  
  
Students who made fun of Justin Taylor found that they could no longer open their lockers. Their homework disappeared. And no matter how many times they set their alarms correctly, they were always late for class and in constant detention.  
  
And teachers who gave Justin Taylor a hard time found that their tires went flat, they were prone to attacks of sneezing during lectures, and birds -- mainly crows -- suddenly swooped down on them and deposited an unpleasant surprise right on their heads as they left the building.  
  
Then, in his senior year, Justin had a major confrontation with the Assistant Principal.  
  
It seems that Justin had worn sandals to school. It was a warm May day and Justin felt that the comfort of his feet was more important than the school dress code. The Assistant Principal had put up with a lot from young Mr. Taylor over the years, but this was the last straw. Yes, Justin was an Honor Student and his parents were respected in the community -- Taylor Electronics was an up-and-coming business that sold radios and television sets, all American-made -- but he was also insolent and disrespectful. He lacked School Spirit, refusing to sing "Fair Greenwich, We Thy Loyal Sons" during school assemblies. He also wrote a supposedly humorous column for the school newspaper, The Greenwichian, that poked fun at everything the Assistant Principal held dear: football, President Eisenhower, and the integrity of Greenwich High School. After watching 'Rebel Without a Cause' he actually came to school in blue jeans and a tee shirt! And now this! Sandals! What self-respecting American male would be seen in sandals? What next? A tattoo? Or -- God forbid! -- an earring?  
  
"Please don't suspend him!" Jennifer Taylor pleaded as she and her son sat in the Assistant Principal's office. "He'll be graduating in a few weeks. You won't have to deal with him anymore. He'll be attending Dartmouth in the fall and I don't want anything to jeopardize his chances there. It's his father's alma mater."  
  
"Well," the Assistant Principal said, hesitating. Mrs. Taylor was a lovely woman. It wasn't her fault that her son was a nonconformist. "If he promises to behave himself."  
  
Justin rolled his eyes, but he also nodded. It wasn't worth making as stink as long as he was getting out of this prison. Soon he'd be in the Real World! College! A place where people read and thought and talked about important things like art and poetry and music!  
  
"Justin?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sorry I wore sandals to school. It won't happen again, sir."  
  
But once they were in the car, Justin turned to his mother and said, "That was such crap, Mom! Making a big deal about a pair of sandals when the world is about to be blown up by the atomic bomb!"  
  
"Oh, Justin, what am I going to do with you?" Jennifer sighed.  
  
"I don't know." Justin slumped down in the wide seat of the Buick. "Nothing."  
  
As graduation approached, Jennifer convinced Craig that a trip to Europe would do Justin some good. He would learn things and broaden his outlook beyond Connecticut. And although Craig felt that exposure to a bunch of dirty foreigners was the last thing Justin needed, he reluctantly agreed.  
  
Two weeks after he got his diploma, Justin was on his way to Italy on an Art Tour. For five glorious weeks Justin looked at paintings, read about paintings, and copied paintings. He sipped cappuccino in cafes in Rome and Florence and Venice. He took weekend side trips to Naples and Paris and Vienna. And he knew this was the life he wanted. The life of an artist. An intellectual. Justin was in heaven.  
  
Then he had to go home. He sailed back on the Berengaria. It was a fine trip, the weather sunny and the ocean smooth, but Justin was in a funk all the way across the Atlantic. For the rest of the summer he holed up in his room, reading Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Allen Ginsberg and counting the days until he could go off to Dartmouth.  
  
And in September off he went.  
  
But when he came home for Thanksgiving Break he announced that he wasn't going back.  
  
"What?" Craig squawked. The carving knife was in his hand and he'd only sliced off one leg. "What the hell do you mean you aren't going back?"  
  
"Now, Craig! Please be calm!" Jennifer urged.  
  
"It's a waste of time," Justin shrugged. "I'm not learning anything. I already know all the stuff in Art History. The Drawing Studios are basic -- I could get the same thing going to the local Art League. And the guys in my dorm are a joke! All they're interested in talking about is what fraternity they're going to pledge!"  
  
"So, what fraternity are you going to pledge?" asked Craig. And he was serious. He was a Tri-Kap and hoped Justin would be one, too.  
  
"Are you serious, Dad?" Justin blurted. "I want to be where important things are happening and not in some idiotic fraternity! I want to go to New York! Or San Francisco!"  
  
"You mean where a bunch of bearded weirdos hang around and do nothing all day?" Craig yelled, waving the carving knife. "Over my dead body!"  
  
Jennifer's blood ran cold when she looked at Justin's face at that moment. Because she knew that her son was so angry at his father that he wished he could make the man's statement come true. And Jennifer was afraid the day would come when Justin could make it come true.  
  
"Craig," she said that night in bed. "We have to talk. I need to tell you something. Something about me and my family. And about Justin." She paused. "My family is... different. That's why I have so little contact with them. I didn't want to be associated with their... their lifestyle."  
  
"I knew it!" Craig sat bolt upright in bed. "They're Communists, aren't they? Lousy Reds! And they've somehow infected my son with their Commie ideas!"  
  
"No, Craig!" Jennifer said. "Not Communists. My family doesn't belong to any political party -- as far as I know. It's something else. I never wanted you to know, but now you have to. Because Justin is taking after the Holroyds. I had hoped that your mortal blood would dilute their influence, but it's too strong. It's happening and there's nothing either one of us can do about it!"  
  
Craig stared at his wife in horror. "What is it? What's happening to our son?"  
  
Jennifer swallowed. "Justin is coming into his Power. It began when he started puberty and the older he gets, the stronger he will become. And when he finally has... sex -- then he'll get even more powerful! It's something that he'll have to learn to control and I can't teach him that! I renounced years ago, before I married you. My Powers are weak. There's nothing I can do! I'm sorry, Craig! So sorry!"  
  
"What... what are you?" Craig whispered.  
  
"I'm a witch," Jennifer replied. "And so is our son. Justin is a warlock and he's going to be a powerful one. When he realizes what he can do, he'll be a danger to himself and everyone around him! There's only one place he can go where I know he'll be safe."  
  
Craig's heart was pounding wildly because although it was completely crazy he also knew that what Jennifer was saying was true. "Where? Where should he go?"  
  
Jennifer took a deep breath. "To my cousin Gillian. In Greenwich Village in New York City. She'll know what to do."  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes: Justin finally learns the truth.  


* * *

January 1958.

Just after the Mortal New Year, Jennifer Holroyd Taylor sat her son down so they could have a little talk. Craig was out -- he was out a lot these days -- and Molly was at a friend's house, so they wouldn't be interrupted.

"What's up?" Justin asked. He could sense a change in the atmosphere of the house. There was a tension he'd never felt before, especially between him and his father. They hadn't been close ever since Craig realized that Justin would never be the he-man jock he'd always dreamed his son would be, but this was different. It was almost as if Craig couldn't stand to be in the same room as Justin. But Justin didn't think refusing to go back to Dartmouth could be the reason for his father's change in attitude.

"I need to tell you something," Jennifer began. "I should have told you this years ago, but I couldn't bring myself to. I wanted to forget that part of my life. I was ashamed of it. Ashamed of... of them!"

"Of who?" said Justin with growing interest. He'd always looked on his mother as a boring suburban housewife, but maybe there was more to her after all. Maybe she had a deep, dark past. Or a forbidden secret. Finally! Something exciting about his dull, humdrum family!

"Of the Holroyds," said Jennifer. "My family."

And then she told him. Everything. About the village in Britain. About the Weird Sisters and their journey to America. About the herb farm in Salem and the artifact shop in Greenwich Village. About Gwynyth and Morgan and June. About Gillian and Nicky and Queenie. About the old house and the bubbling cauldrons. About cats and covens and toads. About dancing naked under the full moon. And about what he was and what he was likely to become.

Justin sat for a few minutes, letting it all sink in. Then he said, "Now I understand the toad. Now I understand a lot of things."

"Toad?" Jennifer blinked. "What toad?"

"Oh, I was angry at my roommate at Dartmouth for bugging me about joining a fraternity," Justin confessed. "So I thought to myself, 'Wouldn't it be great if he turned into an ugly, warty old toad?' And the next morning he told me that he'd had a horrible dream about being a toad, hopping around the sidewalk and then getting squashed by a Studebaker right in front of the dorm. The next day he broke out in a terrible case of warts. I thought it was just a coincidence, but after that he didn't want to room with me anymore. It wasn't long afterwards that I decided I wanted to leave Dartmouth."

"Oh God!" cried Jennifer, rubbing her forehead. "Just like Cousin Nicky!"

"What about Cousin Nicky?" Justin's head was still reeling at the thought of this new set of highly interesting relatives whose existence he'd never imagined.

"Toads!" she said. "It's always toads with you boys! Tell me, Justin -- aren't you upset? I just told you that my family are all witches and that you're a witch, too!"

"No, not really," said Justin honestly. "I knew there was something different about me, but I didn't know what it was. I knew I was special, but I was afraid to tell anyone. I knew I could do things -- strange and wonderful things! -- but I didn't think anyone would believe me! So -- now what? I'm not going back to Dartmouth! I don't care what Dad says!"

"No, you can't go back to Dartmouth," said Jennifer sadly. All her dreams of a normal life, a normal family, were shattered, and inside Jennifer was shattered, too. Because she was about to lose her beautiful son to a life she had long ago rejected. "And you can't stay here, either. Your father... he won't allow it. He doesn't want anyone to find out what you are."

"Then what?" said Justin, feeling his anger rising. "What does Dad want me to do? I notice that he's not here. He doesn't have the guts to face me! Is he afraid I'll turn him into a toad? Or something worse?"

"Your father... it's complicated." Jennifer wished her husband was there, but in the end Craig was a coward. He dealt with things he didn't like by walking away. But this was their son! Their child!

"What about you, Mom?" Justin asked, more gently.

"I've renounced," she stated. "I've lived outside of that life for over twenty years. It wasn't always easy, but I did it. Of course, my Powers were never very strong. I was even weaker than Nicky, and he can barely light a fire, let alone truly hex anyone. But your Power is potentially very great, Justin. Even I can sense it within you. Perhaps not as great as my Aunt Morgan or my cousin Gillian, for they are powerful witches, but great for a warlock. You might be a throwback to one of the sorcerers of the old days. Men had more Power then, although never as great as the women of our clan. But you might be the one. That's what I dread most."

"You can't send me away!" Justin was suddenly very frightened. Where would he go? What would he do? How would he live on his own? What had seemed like a great adventure -- going far away and living in a strange city -- now appeared dark and perilous. He put his arms around his mother and clung to her like a child.

"You'll be with family," Jennifer soothed. "With Holroyds. You'll love Aunt Queenie. She's a dear creature. And Nicky is full of fun and tricks."

"And Gillian?" Justin tried to picture this powerful cousin, but all he could see was a witch in a picture book, an ugly crone with a tall black hat and a wart on her chin. Of course, his mother was nothing like this, but he still couldn't conceive of her as a witch.

"Gillian is... different," Jennifer said slowly. "She's very beautiful, but also very cold. She dislikes fools and she can be quick to anger, but if you are family she'll protect you with her life. She's the one who will be your teacher."

"What if she doesn't want to do it?" Justin searched his mother's face for reassurance.

"She will do it. I've already spoken to her," Jennifer confirmed. "You'll live with Queenie in Nicky's old room -- he has his own place now. Gillian's shop is on the first floor and Queenie rents out the rest of the apartments, but the top floor is all hers. When you get settled maybe you could take some classes. I don't want you to neglect your education."

"And you say they live in New York City? In Greenwich Village?" Justin began to draw a picture of narrow streets and brownstone buildings in his mind. Of coffeehouses and clubs and strange little stores selling magical items. "Really?"

"Yes. Many of our kind live there," said Jennifer. "It's a place that embraces those who are different. A place where you'll be safe." Silently she added, "I hope."

"Greenwich Village!" Justin exclaimed. "I've always wanted to go there! I've read all about it. Artists and writers and actors live there!"

"I must warn you about something," said Jennifer, taking her son's hand.

Justin frowned. "What?"

"You must try not to do any of what we call magical thinking," Jennifer cautioned, her face somber. "What happened with your roommate -- that could have had a very bad outcome."

Justin gulped. "You mean I really might have turned Bob into a toad?"

"Well, not exactly," she said. "But he might have begun to think he was a toad, which can be just as bad. A notion put into a mortal's head by a powerful witch can work in ways we can't predict. Mortals are extremely open to the power of suggestion. That's why you need to be trained by an expert, like Gillian. You need to learn how to cast a spell correctly -- and also how to counter one. And you must learn the Rule of Threefold Return."

"What's that?" Justin's blue eyes widened.

"That any spell you cast, any deed you do, for good or for ill, will return to you threefold. That's why a curse or an evil spell is a dangerous thing. It will cost you something you hold very dear. But a helpful spell or a healing will bring you luck and good fortune. You are still considered a child, Justin. You're a virgin -- aren't you?"

Justin looked away. He wasn't ashamed by the question -- witches don't feel shame and therefore they can't blush -- but this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with his mother. "Yes," he said finally. "I'm a virgin. So what?"

"Then in the eyes of our kind you are still a child," said Jennifer. "Until you share hot blood with another, you aren't responsible for your actions. But be careful, Justin! If you are out of control, the Elders among us might take you to task. They might punish you -- or even take away your Power."

Justin felt a chill. "Can they do that?"

"Yes," said Jennifer. "The Elders can do many things, so it's best not to cross them."

"How will I know who they are?" asked Justin.

"You'll know," his mother replied. "Your Aunt Morgan in Salem is one. And Mrs. Bianca De Passe in Brooklyn. Mathilda in Philadelphia. Lady Glynis in London. La Contessa de la Clara in Barcelona. Madame Jacqueline in Paris. Those are only a few of the ones I know of. And one day Cousin Gillian will be one of them."

"She's that powerful?" Justin was now very anxious to meet his cousin. He could almost feel the Power surging through him.

Jennifer could feel it, too. She squeezed his hand hard. "Justin! Stop! That's how you'll get yourself into trouble!"

"Sorry, Mom," he said sheepishly.

Jennifer stood up and looked around her son's bedroom. The toy soldiers and model airplanes on the shelf. A baseball glove lying in the corner. A small trophy from Debate Club on his dresser. His school books piled on the desk. Things that represented a life he was leaving behind forever. "Pack a bag. Take only what you really need. Some clothing and your art supplies and your favorite books. If you need anything in New York, ask Queenie. If you need money, call me and I'll send it. And write to me, Justin. Because I'll miss you."

Jennifer almost felt something welling up in her eyes. Almost. Was this what it felt like to cry? Maybe. Was this what it felt like to love someone? She couldn't say.

Justin nodded and went into the closet to get his suitcase.

It was good that Justin was leaving. Jennifer could feel his Power growing and it frightened her. If he stayed here, among mortals, something horrible would happen, she knew it. Better that he go far away, to a place where he could learn to be the warlock he was born to be. Dartmouth had been the wrong place for him. Greenwich Village was the college he really needed.

Soon, thought Jennifer. Soon he'll no longer be a part of my world. Go, my son -- and meet your destiny!


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: Justin arrives in the Village.  


* * *

  
January 1958.  
  
Justin got off the train from Connecticut at Penn Station on a freezing January day. He was carrying a single carpetbag grip and a schoolbag full of books and sketchpads.  
  
"Excuse me," he asked a passing porter. "How do I get to Greenwich Village?"  
  
The porter, a tall, stern-faced black man, looked him up and down, as if trying to size up his bankroll. "Subway," he said, pointing to a stairway. Streams of people were pouring down it like rainwater into a gutter. "There's a map on the wall. You take that 7th Avenue train downtown and look for Christopher Street. That's the Village. You got money for the fare?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Justin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. "I have money."  
  
The man frowned. "You got people in this town, son?"  
  
He nodded. "Yes, sir. My great-aunt and cousins."  
  
The porter sniffed. "When you get off that train, don't you be talking to no strange men on the street. That Greenwich Village is full of crazy people! You hear me, son?"  
  
"Yes, sir," said Justin. "I hear you."  
  
"Good. Now be on your way."  
  
Justin took a coin and bought a token. It clanked down into the slot as he pushed through the turnstile. The platform was crowded with people and the noise and smell of the train as it screeched to a halt overwhelmed his senses. Justin clutched his bags, trying to stay on his feet as he was propelled through the open door and into the subway car.  
  
Once on, he slipped into an empty seat and glanced around him. People seemed almost startled when they met his gaze, then they glared at him. That was the first lesson -- New York City is not Connecticut, so don't stare at people.  
  
The subway car rattled and swayed as it shot through the dark tunnels. Justin craned his neck, trying to figure out where to get off. Finally, he saw the sign in the dim light and stumbled from the car, up the steep stairs, and onto Christopher Street.  
  
It was almost 5:00 and the streetlights were already on. The city seemed darker than home, the streets narrow and the houses looming close. He had no idea where he was or which way to go.  
  
"Excuse me?" Justin said, stopping a tall young man in a long overcoat. He remembered what the porter had told him, but he didn't have any choice. "Which way is MacDougal Street?"  
  
"What are you looking for?" asked the man.  
  
"My... my cousin's shop." Justin shivered as the wind whipped down the narrow street. He had a scarf, but no hat, and his gloves were shoved into his coat pocket. "Gillian Holroyd."  
  
The man considered. "Is that the primitive art place? With all the African masks?"  
  
"Yes." Justin brightened. "That's it!"  
  
"I know where it is. I'll take you there."  
  
Justin balked. "That's okay. If you could give me directions..."  
  
"I work right around the corner on Bleecker Street," said the man. "Come on! I won't bite you."  
  
Justin hesitated for another moment, but it was getting darker and colder. The man smiled at him. He had a slight gap between his front teeth and friendly blue eyes. "All right. Lead the way."  
  
The man started off, with Justin at his heels. "You new in town?"  
  
"I just came in on the train," Justin admitted.  
  
"And the lady that runs that shop is your cousin?" The man cocked his head. "She's beautiful, but a little weird, if you don't mind me saying so."  
  
"I've never met her, but I'm going to be living with my Great-Aunt Queenie. She owns the building."  
  
"That's a nice building," said the man. "Nicer than I can afford!" He laughed. "I live in a dumpy basement flat over on Gay Street. Isn't that ironic?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Justin asked, frowning.  
  
The man laughed again. "Don't you get it, honey?"  
  
"No," said Justin.  
  
"You really are green, aren't you? But you'll learn!" The man stopped on the sidewalk and held out his hand. "By the way, my name's Emmett Honeycutt, originally from Hazelhurst, Mississippi."  
  
Justin shook his hand. "Justin Taylor, Greenwich, Connecticut."  
  
"Honey, your hand is freezing!" said Emmett. "Don't you have gloves? If so, put them on this instant!"  
  
Justin set down his grip and pulled out his gloves. "I didn't think it would be so cold here."  
  
"Colder than a witch's tit!" Emmett giggled. "But you get used to it."  
  
"I thought you were from here," said Justin, as they resumed walking. "You seem to know your way around so well."  
  
"No one is from the Village except a few old Italian people and a couple of even older anarchists who live over on Mercer Street," said Emmett. "Everyone comes here from somewhere else. Artists, poets, actors, musicians -- this is where they come to find their muse! Their inspiration!"  
  
Justin's heart leapt. That's what he was looking for! His inspiration! "Are you one?"  
  
Emmett raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm a lot a things, honey! But what thing do you mean in particular?"  
  
"An artist? Or a poet?" Justin guessed.  
  
"No, I'm a waiter in a cafe," Emmett confessed. "But one day I'm hoping to be a famous fashion designer. Until then I'm taking classes -- that is, when I can afford them. And I'm hoping to get a job at Macy's as an apprentice window dresser. Then I can quit the Liberty Cafe and launch myself into the world of haute couture!"  
  
"What does a window dresser do?" Justin asked.  
  
"Why, a window dresser creates the big displays in the windows of the great department stores!" Emmett exclaimed. "Macy's! Gimbel's! Bergdorf Goodman! Saks! Bloomingdale's! It isn't exactly designing fabulous gowns for Princess Grace, but it's a start."  
  
"I hope you get the job," said Justin politely. Putting things in windows didn't seem very creative or interesting to him, but Emmett seemed excited by it. "I'll need to find a job myself, soon."  
  
"What do you do?" asked Emmett.  
  
"I want to be an artist," Justin confided. "But I'll do anything. I want to earn my keep."  
  
"One thing about New York," said Emmett. "No matter what you do, there's always someone who'll pay you to do it -- eventually! Here's MacDougal Street." They stopped on a corner. "The shop is just down that way. You can't miss it. And the Liberty Cafe is down this way, on Bleecker. Stop by and have a cappuccino when you have the chance. I'm there almost every night."  
  
"Thanks, Emmett," said Justin. "You know a porter at the train station warned me not to talk to any strange men when I got off at Christopher Street. But I'm glad I met you."  
  
Emmett patted Justin's hand. "He was probably afraid you'd meet up with one of those big, bad queers who live here in the Village." He paused and laughed again. "And now you have! But there's no way you can live down here and not run into one of us, so 'que sera, sera,' as Doris Day says! You take care now, honey!"  
  
Justin watched as Emmett walked down Bleecker Street. He made a note to go to the Liberty Cafe as soon as he was settled.  
  
But now he had to find the Holroyds. He turned and headed down MacDougal Street. It suddenly felt much warmer.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

  
Author's notes: Justin meets his cousin, Gillian.  


* * *

January 1958.

Justin gazed through the shop window for a few minutes, gathering the courage to go inside.

This is it, he thought. My new life.

But did he really want a new life? Well, his old life in Connecticut and then at Dartmouth wasn't what he wanted. But what did he want? All of the options his schoolmates took for granted -- love, marriage, an ordinary job, a life in the suburbs with a house, kids, and two cars -- were no longer on the table. He was a witch. A warlock, to be precise. The normal rules of society had been erased for him, but there was nothing else in their place -- at least not yet.

Justin took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A bell rang as he entered the shop.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed." A beautiful blonde woman dressed all in black stepped out from behind a filmy curtain. But she paused when she saw Justin, her lavender eyes bright under eyebrows like crescent moons. "Ah! You're here."

"Are... are you Gillian Holroyd?" Suddenly Justin was afraid. He could feel the Power emanating from this woman -- a Power he'd never faced before. And she was supposed to be his mentor. His teacher.

"Yes," she said. "And you're my Cousin Justin. First cousins, once removed, actually. But genealogy is Queenie's area of expertise. She'll have you looking at old family trees until the moon turns blue. But enough of that. How was your trip down from Connecticut?"

"Fine," said Justin, setting down his grip and his schoolbag. His first cousin, once removed took his coat and scarf and laid them on the shop counter.

"Good," she said, taking his hands firmly and drawing him nearer. "Your hands are cold. Now, let me look at you." She stared deeply into his eyes and Justin felt a sensation like pin pricks go up his spine. "Yes, you'll do nicely. Come this way, my dear."

Justin let himself be led behind the curtain and into Gillian's living area behind the main shop. A fire burned in the hearth and a white fur rug was spread out in front of it. Gillian sat Justin down on the sofa.

"I'm sure you must be hungry," she said. Her voice was low and purring. "Queenie is out, so I know she hasn't cooked anything. We don't do a lot of cooking -- we use our cauldrons for, um, other things."

"Oh," said Justin, trying to imagine those other things.

"That was a joke, by the way. I leave the cauldrons to the Old Guard like my mother and Mrs. De Passe. Did your mother tell you about Mrs. De Passe?"

Justin hesitated. "I think she mentioned that name, but I don't know who she is. I really don't know anything."

"No matter. That's why you're here -- to learn. But first I'll make some tea." Gillian moved gracefully into the small kitchen to put the kettle on. "When Queenie gets back, we'll go out and get something to eat."

"That would be swell! Oops!" Justin was startled when a Siamese cat suddenly leaped into his lap. It was wearing a collar with small jingling bells. "Where did you come from?"

Gillian padded out from the kitchen. Justin noticed that her feet were bare. "That's Pyewacket. He seems to approve of you."

The cat rubbed himself against Justin, his purr as loud as a motorboat. "I always wanted a cat, but my mother wouldn't let me. She said I was allergic to them, but I'm not sneezing now."

"I imagine your mother told you that because she didn't want any cats in the house," Gillian said. Justin noticed that her eyes and the cat's eyes were exactly the same color. "Cats give things away."

"What kinds of things?" Justin asked.

"The truth," she said, an edge to her voice. "Your mother had plenty to hide from the mortal world. But Jennifer was always weak. I'm sure that's why she renounced. It's easier to pretend you don't want any Power when you only have a little to begin with."

Justin was about to defend his mother when the tea kettle began to whistle. Gillian went into the kitchen and came out a few minutes later with a tray. She handed Justin a steaming cup. "Here. This will give you a second wind."

Justin drank. He'd never had tea like this before. It tasted like peppermint on top of something strong and earthy, but it was also sweet. "This is good!" Justin was surprised. He had never cared for the Lipton's his mother made from teabags she kept in a ceramic jar.

Gillian sat on the white fur rug and sipped her tea. The cat jumped off of Justin's lap and ran over to her. "Do you like Ethiopian food? There's a good Ethiopian restaurant near the Zodiac Club -- that's where my brother Nicky will be tonight, playing the bongo drums, as usual!"

"I guess," said Justin. He had no idea what Ethiopian food was like, but his stomach was rumbling so loudly he felt like eating the tea cup. "I didn't know your brother was a musician."

Gillian curled her lip in disdain. "Nicky isn't much of anything, but at least playing the bongos keeps him out of trouble. Unless that writer is with him tonight. They've been spending altogether too much time with each other. I don't approve of our kind mixing with outsiders." She stared into her tea cup thoughtfully. "It always comes to no good."

"But my parents are happy," Justin offered. He'd thought little about his parents' marriage, but it didn't seem any worse than the other couples in their neighborhood.

"Are they?" Gillian replied dismissively. "Do you really think your mother is content? Would you be happy if you spent your life hiding what you really were? Denying your nature? Pretending that you didn't feel the things you felt. Pretending that you didn't know secrets that outsiders could never imagine." She set down her cup and picked up the cat, stroking his head. "Remember this: you can hide what you are, Justin, but one day it will all be revealed. That's what your mother tried to do. She wanted to become one of 'them' -- and she tried to make you one of them, too! But you are too powerful. Tell me -- you must have felt that Power even when you were small. I know I did. And as you grew, you must have sensed that you were different. That you were not like the other little boys."

Justin swallowed. "I did feel it, but I was afraid... Afraid it was something horrible." He licked his lips nervously. "I thought I was a... a..." He stopped, unable to say the word that was in his head. The name the girls in school called him behind his back and the other boys called him to his face.

"What?" Gillian whispered. "You can tell me, Justin. You can tell me anything. And you must always tell me everything if I am to be your teacher."

"That I was a... a queer." Justin's voice faded on the word, as if it were choking him.

But his cousin shrugged matter-of-factly. "Of course, my dear. You were born that way. You're a warlock! Warlocks almost always prefer their own sex. And witches like them to. That way the boys aren't too clingy and needy. They go their own way and don't stick their noses where they don't belong. That's what makes us different from outsiders. In the mundane world men are in charge. That's why the world is in trouble -- poverty, war, the atom bomb, television! All creations of men!" Gillian shuddered. "But our Elders are all women. That's the way things were meant to be. Only women can connect with the Three Elements -- Earth and Water and Fire. Those are the most important for making magic. Warlocks can only connect with the Fourth Element -- Air. That's fine for their needs, but it limits them and keeps them out of trouble."

"So men -- I mean warlocks -- can never be truly powerful?" Justin asked, fascinated.

"I didn't say that," Gillian corrected. "I said men are limited. Some have great Power -- or the potential for great Power. But most waste it or use it for ill. There are some who become sorcerers, but those men move beyond the magic of the Four Elements. That's always dangerous. But as long as men know their place..." Gillian shrugged. "Men may be a problem, but we do need the Air to breathe, Justin. That's why when we do a Great Spell we need our fathers and brothers and sons -- and first cousins, once removed! -- to add that missing Element. Oh, and if we want a baby!" Gillian laughed. "But otherwise we do quite well without them."

Justin felt a chill. "Then why do you want me here? If you don't need boys?"

Gillian frowned. "Because you have Power and you need to learn how to use it. Power must never go to waste. There have only been a few men born into the Holroyds. They all had high hopes for Nicky when he was born, but he's useless! He mainly uses his magic to pull silly pranks and charm mortals into ridiculous love affairs -- outsiders like that writer, Sidney Retlich. I'm afraid Nicky will never grow up. I don't want to see that happen to you."

Justin's head was reeling from all this information, but especially at the fact that his cousin was not only unshocked by his admitting he was a queer, but that she had expected it! That it was perfectly normal -- at least among warlocks. "So I don't have to... to hide what I am?"

"Well, you need to keep outsiders from knowing about your Powers, but that shouldn't be difficult. Outsiders are a bit dim. But you'll be protected by the family, and that includes all of our kind. And as to the other... This is the Village, Justin! Here even many of the outsider men prefer their own kind! Don't worry. This is where you'll be safe." Gillian suddenly stood up, sniffing the air. "Queenie's coming back. I'll get my coat and we'll go to eat. Afterwards we'll stop at the Zodiac Club and you can meet Nicky."

"I'm looking forward to it! By the way, have you ever heard of a place called the Liberty Cafe?" Justin asked.

"Of course. It's on Bleecker Street. Full of mortals pretending to poets and artists. But there's a bakery next door that is quite nice. Good pastries. I think Nicky had an affair with the man who owns it. My brother has an unfortunate weakness for older mortal men. Zoe thinks Nicky has 'daddy issues,' but I think she reads too much Freud!" Gillian sighed. "Tomorrow I'll send you around to get acquainted with the local shops. You'll need to know where to buy your herbs and oils and other ingredients. That's where we'll begin -- with the basics."

Justin jumped up in excitement, sending Pyewacket running under the sofa with a yowl. "I can hardly wait! I want to get started right away!"

"That's a good boy," said his cousin. And she smiled a tight, pleased smile. Justin would do quite well. Yes, very, very well -- when the time came.


	7. Chapter 7

  
Author's notes: Justin's first night out in the Village -- the Zodiac Club.  


* * *

January 1958.

The Ethiopian restaurant, a glorified storefront called The Empress, was quite an experience for Justin. He'd never eaten chicken stew without silverware before, but he watched Queenie and Gillian rip off chunks of injera bread and scoop up the spicy mixture, transferring it to their mouths without dropping a single morsel. Justin followed their lead, but he wasn't as deft as the ladies.

"Sorry," he said as a blob of the dorowat plopped into his lap.

"That's what napkins are for, darling!" said Queenie, giggling. She giggled a lot.

Justin liked Queenie. She was short and plump and had unnaturally bright red hair. And then there was the giggle. Justin knew that Queenie was old enough to be his grandmother, but she seemed almost like a child -- silly, scatter-brained, and full of fun. Gillian acted more like her mother than her niece, telling Queenie to sit up straight, to pay attention, and to stop giggling so much.

"I can't help it," Queenie pouted. "I'm so glad Justin is here! We're going to have such fun! It'll be like when Nicky was a boy. He was always full of mischief!"

"Yes," said Gillian. "That was the problem. Nicky was never serious. He still isn't."

"Oh, don't listen to Gil, Justin. It's always a pleasure when Nicky is around," Queenie said happily. "And the Zodiac Club! I love going there! Did Gillian tell you that Nicky plays the bongo drums there? He used to work at the Good Luck Herb Shop -- my sister Morgan's farm provides many of the herbs they sell there -- but he got bored with it. Nicky gets bored easily."

"Nicky can't concentrate," Gillian added. "He never could. That's why he's such a poor warlock. You need good concentration to work magic. And you need to memorize the spells correctly. Nicky couldn't do it. But then Nicky was always impossible at school."

"He got into Yale, my dear," Queenie pointed out.

Gillian rolled her eyes. "Only because Mother fixed it for him. And he was kicked out before he graduated. When I went to Wellesley I got in on my own merits -- and I actually learned something there."

"Gillian is the brain of the family," Queenie confided. "She always has been. She's just like Morgan in that way. Me -- I know I'm not the smart one, but I never cared. I was the gay one! The one who loved a party and having a good time! Oh, the gentlemen flocked around me when I was young! Those were the days, darling! Prohibition didn't stop us from having fun."

"It sounds like it was exciting back then," said Justin, still struggling with getting his food from the dish to his mouth.

"Oh, it was! Of course, you can still have fun in the Village," said Queenie. "There are always interesting people around. Not so many of our young people these days, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you'll find a few friends. What about Rivka Gold's grandson? Isn't he living in the Village? He's about Justin's age."

Gillian nodded. "Ethan. He's studying at Julliard. I think he lives in the East Village. If he's at the Zodiac tonight, we'll introduce you to him. He comes from one of the our oldest families. They've always been noted for their music. Certain talents run in some families -- music with the Golds and the Lennons, or a gift for words, like the Hawthornes. The Rinaldis are known for their cooking, while the Gerards make beautiful artifacts."

"What are the Holroyds known for?" asked Justin.

"A number of things," Gillian said vaguely. "Jennifer tells me you're a talented artist."

"I try," said Justin. "I'd like to take some classes while I'm here."

"I'll ask Waldo," said Gillian. "He knows all of the painters. And I'll talk to some of the other gallery owners. I prefer primitive art to all this new stuff, but some of it is interesting."

"That would be great!" Justin said. "I can't thank you enough for all you're doing for me. I mean, you hardly know me."

"You're family, Justin," Gillian reminded him. "You're of our blood. Your mother may have renounced, but that doesn't mean she's no longer a part of us."

"But I'm only half," said Justin. "I thought that might make a difference."

Gillian shook her head. "You have the Power, Justin, that's all that matters. Your father -- he's of no consequence. You either have the Power or you don't. Of course, some have it more than others. Look at Nicky -- his breeding is impeccable, but he still can't cast a decent spell to save his life!"

"I'm the same way," said Queenie sadly. "Morgan and Gwynyth are wonderful! But me?" She waved her hand. "Will-of-the-wisp! That's what my mother used to say! Nothing substantial."

"It's just as well, Auntie dear," Gillian soothed. "If you had any real Power, you'd be a danger to yourself. You're not serious enough."

"I know," Queenie sighed.

"Come," said Gillian, signaling the waiter for the check. "It's time to go."

***

The Zodiac Club was tucked down an alley off Bedford Street. If you didn't know where it was, you'd probably never find it, which was exactly the point. Gillian knocked on the door three times and a window opened. A man wearing a jeweled turban stuck out his head and greeted them.

"Good evening, Stanislaus," said Gillian. "We'd like to enter."

"Ah! Miss Gillian! And Miss Queenie! But who is this? A newcomer?"

"This is our cousin, Justin. He's living with us now."

"And what is your birthdate, young sir?" asked the man in the turban.

"December 8," Justin answered.

"Sagittarius -- the sign of the archer! The stars say this is an auspicious time for meeting new people and learning new things! Enter my friend Justin!"

The door swung open, revealing a narrow staircase. Music and smoke wafted up from the dark depths. Justin hesitated.

"Go ahead," urged Queenie. "We want to get a good table."

Justin plunged forward. At the bottom of the stairs was a wide room crowded with tables. On the stage a jazz combo was playing. A good-looking young man sat on the edge of the stage, playing the bongos, his eyes closed in rapture.

"Nicky!" called Queenie. "We're here!"

The young man opened his eyes and grinned when he saw them. Then he went back to losing himself in the music.

"Nicky is so dedicated to those drums. And he's never taken a single lesson!" said Queenie. "Can you believe it?"

"A monkey could play the bongos," Gillian commented. "So even Nicky can do it reasonably well."

They made their way to a table against the back wall and sat down. A waiter came over and Gillian ordered Zodiac cocktails for all of them.

"I've never had one of those," said Justin. He'd only been in a bar a few times during his aborted college career and never drank anything but beer.

"It's good!" said Queenie. "It's the specialty of the house."

"What's in it?" Justin asked suspiciously.

"That's a secret," said Gillian. "But you'll like it. It's designed for anyone who drinks it to like it."

"Oh," said Justin, not understanding.

"Zoe and Waldo are here!" exclaimed Queenie. "And Zackary! Oh, and Philippe! Maybe he'll sing later. Philippe is from Paris, Justin. I can't understand a thing he says, but the way he says it is so very sexy!"

"Honestly, Queenie, you're like a schoolgirl with a crush!" said Gillian.

"I'm allowed to have a crush," Queen asserted. "You had a crush on that man who lives upstairs, Mr. Henderson. I think you still like him."

"He's a friend," Gillian stated. "That's all. We go out occasionally. But I don't have a crush on him! I don't have crushes -- especially not on outsiders!"

But Justin watched his cousin's face and her expression told a different story. Justin had never seen his cousin look so regretful -- or conflicted. That surprised him. He had a hard time thinking of Gillian with a crush on anyone, and on an outsider -- that was also hard to believe. But what Queenie said seemed to have some truth to it.

The combo took a break and Nicky bounced over to the table. "You must be Justin! Hey, man! Give me some skin!"

"What?" Justin stared back at Nicky.

He held out his hand. "Lay one on me!"

"Oh." Justin shook Nicky's hand sheepishly.

Gillian made a rueful noise. "Nicky, you're such a child!"

"I love you, too, Gil." Nicky kissed his sister. "How do you like the Zodiac, Justin?"

"It seems nice," said Justin. "I mean cool. Real cool!"

"It's beyond cool, kid," said Nicky. "It's way out! It's the utmost! It's the living end!"

"It's a drag," said another voice. "And your combo, Nicky -- they're a drag, too. Especially the bongo player."

"The great musical prodigy!" Nicky sniffed. "Justin -- may I present Mr. Ethan Gold. He's the only one around here who knows anything about music."

Ethan was short and cocky, with a mass of wild, curly black hair and a skimpy goatee. "Well, I know more than you do, Nick Holroyd," he retorted. "I ought to -- I've been studying music since I was three years old and I play the violin, the piano, the flute, and the clarinet, while you can barely keep time on the bongos. I have a full scholarship to Julliard and you..." Ethan looked around the dank club. "This is the best you can do. You should go back to the herb shop -- if they'll take you."

"Ha, ha!" said Nicky. "One thing you aren't is a comedian."

"Boys! Don't argue," said Queenie. "Ethan, sit down. We're all having Zodiac cocktails. Here they are now!" The waiter set the cocktails on the table. "Try it, Justin."

Justin gaped at his glass. It was black and smoking and a sprig of green stuff was sticking out the top. "Is it... hot?"

"Oh, no!" Queenie picked hers up and gulped it. "Very refreshing."

Justin made a face. "Then why is it... steaming?"

"Don't worry." Ethan picked up Justin's glass and took a sip. "See? It won't kill you. I'm Ethan, by the way. What's your name again?"

"This is our cousin, Justin Holroyd Taylor," said Gillian. "He'll be staying with us while he pursues his education."

"Oh, yeah?" Ethan stared at Justin intently. "Go ahead. Try it."

Justin closed his eyes and drank a little of the cocktail. To his surprise it was cool and tasted like his favorite drink. "This is good! It tastes like chocolate milk!"

Ethan laughed. "It tastes like licorice to me. And I bet Queenie's tastes like gin. It tastes like whatever you want it to taste like! That's the secret of the Zodiac cocktail!"

"Wow." Justin drank a little more. It still tasted like chocolate milk, but something else was happening. The drink was going directly to his head and swirling around inside. It felt like he was rising up off the ground and floating.

Ethan sidled closer. "So, Justin -- Do you like violin music?" he whispered. "I'm famous for my fingering. And the way I stroke my bow. How'd you like to come over to my place and I'll give you a private concert?"

"I... I don't know." Justin felt dizzy. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady himself. And then everything went black.


	8. Chapter 8

  
Author's notes: Gillian and Ethan have a little talk,  


* * *

January 1958.

 

"Oh, dear!" cried Queenie. "Poor Justin!"

"Stand back!" said Nicky, as the crowd pushed in to see what wrong. "Give the kid some air!"

Gillian took a small vial out of a pocket inside her cape and held it under Justin's nose, saying a few words under her breath. He coughed and his eyes fluttered open. "What happened?"

"You fainted!" Queenie pronounced.

"He was merely a little dizzy," Gillian corrected as Nicky and Ethan helped Justin to his feet. "It's been a long day and the boy needs to go home and get to bed."

Justin's legs were shaky and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. "Yes. Go to bed."

"Nicky, Queenie -- Help him up the stairs. I'll be along in a few minutes."

Nicky nodded. "Come on, Justin, old man! A little fresh air will clear your head."

"Thanks." Justin took a step and then another. "I feel a lot better now."

"Come, my dear -- I'll make you some camomile tea when we get back to the flat," said Queenie.

Ethan started to follow, but Gillian caught his arm. "Wait. I want to speak with you."

Ethan shrank away. Frankly, he was more than a little afraid of Gillian Holroyd. She was not only powerful, but she was intimidatingly beautiful and mysterious. "Wha...what?"

"Sit!" she ordered. And Ethan sat. "You like my cousin, don't you?"

"Well, I just met him, but, yeah -- I like him," Ethan admitted.

"Good," Gillian replied to Ethan's relief. "Justin is new to our life and he has a lot to learn. I want you to be his friend."

Ethan was taken aback by Gillian's request, but he was happy to agree. "Sure. I'll be his friend."

"I want you to show him around the Village," Gillian commanded. "Make sure he doesn't get into trouble. He's lived a sheltered life in Connecticut, but also a mortal life. He's only now coming into his Power and although I'll be working with him, I still have my business to run and my own life to lead. I can't chase the boy around all day -- and I don't trust either Queenie or Nicky to do it, either. Justin needs a friend his own age. I've decided that will be you."

Ethan puffed up with pride. "Of course, who else? There's no other young warlock as talented or as powerful as me. I'll show Justin the ropes. You can count on me!"

Gillian's lavender eyes narrowed. "But one thing -- keep your hands off. I mean that. No hot blood until after he's been Initiated."

"You mean Justin's still a virgin?" Ethan couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Yes, and I have great plans for his Initiation, so don't do anything to compromise it," Gillian warned.

Ethan swallowed. He knew Gillian meant business and that if he crossed her she could make things very unpleasant for him. Very, very unpleasant! "Do you have anyone in mind for his Initiation? Because I'd be happy to do the honors!"

Gillian snorted. "You're a very nice boy, Ethan, but I'm looking for the perfect person to perform the Rite. It has to be someone very strong, preferably an Elder or the equivalent among warlocks. Besides, Justin isn't ready yet. He hasn't been trained. When he is finally Initiated it will release a mighty Power within him and we can make a great spell with that residual Power."

Ethan shuddered. He remembered his own Initiation. His grandmother, Rivka Gold, had brought in a witch from Italy, a famous opera singer, when he was 14 to do the deflowering. It was a good match -- she was also from a family noted for their musical gifts. Before the Rite he'd been a very good musician, but afterwards he was a true prodigy.

But while Ethan had looked forward to the physical aspect of the Rite, when it came to actually doing it -- well, that wasn't so wonderful. The opera singer was in her fifties and, although a congenial woman and an eminent witch, she was also quite hefty and not at all attractive. Of course, Ethan wasn't attracted to women in general, but it might have been easier for him with someone like Gillian, who was at least beautiful and sexy -- for a female! It also didn't help that his grandmother and all his female relatives, as well as the local Elders, were there to watch the whole thing. Ethan was glad that he'd been officially Initiated, but it wasn't something he thought back on with much pleasure.

"I understand," he said to Gillian. "Keep Justin out of trouble until his Initiation."

"If you will," Gillian purred. "I'd be most grateful. And after the Rite has been performed, you two boys can play as much as you wish. Once Justin's Power has been officially kindled it will only help both of you to share hot blood as much as possible. It will make you both more powerful."

"Yes!" Ethan's eyes sparkled. "I'd like that!"

"I discussed this with my cousin Jennifer, Justin's mother. Justin is sexually naive and I wish him to stay that way for the time being. Thankfully, Connecticut is a conservative place. And she assured me that her son's inclination is entirely towards his own sex. That also helped to keep him unsullied. In backward places like Connecticut they shun boys who like other boys. But that also made Justin rather unsure of himself and a bit of a loner. You can help draw him out, Ethan. But not too much. Keep the boy balanced."

"How old is Justin anyway?" Ethan asked. Ethan himself was just shy of 21.

"He turned 19 last month."

"He's 19 and never shared hot blood!" Ethan shook his head. "I never could have waited that long. By the time I was Initiated I was already hot to trot!"

"But you grew up in the Village, my dear," Gillian pointed out. "Surrounded by our kind. Justin grew up unaware of what he was. He was only told a very short while ago, so he doesn't understand what it truly means to be a warlock. Now that he's here, however, he'll learn quickly. That's why I want to find the perfect partner for him before too much time passes. I don't want to happen to him what happened to Nicky."

Ethan's ears pricked up. He loved gossip. "What happened to him?"

Gillian sighed. "Nicky was precocious, at least in regards to sex. Mother waited too long to plan his Initiation. By the time she'd found a partner for him, Nicky had already been sharing hot blood with some horrible man he met on the street -- and a mortal man at that!"

"A mortal?" Ethan made a face. He'd never shared hot blood with an outsider and had no desire to do so. That was a guarantee to sap your Power. Since mortals had no Power of their own, every time you had sex with one, they sucked away some of yours! It wasn't as bad for witches who mated with mortals, since they had more Power to begin with, but warlocks had to be very careful not to lose what little they had. There was no way Ethan was going to chance draining off any of his musical gift! "Eww! That's disgusting!"

"Yes," said Gillian sadly. "Nicky was well on his way to being ruined before he'd even started. He's had a weakness for mortals ever since. And now he's taken up with a new one -- that awful writer, Sidney Retlich."

"The guy who wrote that crazy book about witches in Mexico?"

"The very one," Gillian confirmed.

"That book is a load a b.s.!" Ethan scoffed. "Everyone is laughing at it!"

"But outsiders aren't laughing," said Gillian. "It's a best seller and Retlich is making money hand over fist. And he's treating Nicky to all sorts of treats and presents. You know my brother can never resist a present -- or anything free."

"Nicky isn't going to make any money of his own playing the bongos!" Ethan said. "Especially since he's so bad at it! That's why he needs a sugar daddy. But why does he want a mortal?"

"I told you -- outsiders are his weakness." Gillian stood up and wrapped her long black cape around her shoulders. "I must go and make certain Justin is all right."

"He sure had a nasty reaction to that cocktail," said Ethan. "He fell right over on his keister!"

"He's not used to magic potions," said Gillian. "His system still needs time to adjust. Until then, no more Zodiac cocktails for Justin. I'll need to bring him along slowly, but surely. Yes, very slowly. Until he's ready."

"And then can I have a crack at him?" Ethan leered.

Gillian looked down her nose at the scraggly-haired musician. "You make lovely music, my dear, but at heart you're just a vulgar little boy. But yes -- after he's Initiated you can have a crack at him, as you say. But not until then. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am." Ethan cowered. "I hear you."

"Good." Gillian pulled on her long red gloves. "I'll send Justin out tomorrow morning on some errands. You wait for him and go along. Make it look like serendipity."

"I will!" Ethan agreed.

Gillian nodded and took her leave. He watched the beautiful blonde witch glide through the Zodiac Club and disappear up the stairs.

Ethan licked his dry lips. It made his blood heat up just thinking about the new boy, his golden hair and pale body.

"I think I'll go to the Mumbo Jumbo and have a drink. There are a lot of wild warlocks over there. I should be able to find one who'd like to come home with me and help me stroke my bow!" Ethan laughed. "That will have to do until Justin is Initiated -- then we can have some real fun!"


	9. Chapter 9

  
Author's notes: The herb shop.  


* * *

January 1958.

"Take this." Gillian handed Justin a long list. "And this." She gave him a handful of bills. "Get everything on the list. There should be enough money left over to buy a treat for yourself."

Justin looked over the items. "Black hellebore. Tansy. Ginseng. Mugwort. I've never heard of any of these things!"

"They're herbs," said Gillian. "Ignatius at the Good Luck Herb Company will take care of that. And you will become very familiar with these herbs -- and a lot more."

"I guess I don't know very much," Justin admitted.

Gillian raised an artfully arched eyebrow. "That's why your mother sent you here -- to learn. Oh, and pick up my dry cleaning while you're at it. Fiorucci's Laundry on 7th Avenue. Here's the ticket."

Justin stashed the list, the cash, and the ticket in his pocket. "Do you have a map? I don't know where any of these places are. I might get lost."

"A map?" Gillian made the word sound dirty. "A witch doesn't need a map! This is the Village, my dear. Every journey is an adventure, every street a discovery. If you get lost, all the better to learn the way home." Justin hesitated, but his cousin nudged him out the door.

Justin wandered down MacDougal Street to the where Bleecker crossed it. Then he stopped and glanced around, unsure of which way to go.

"You're out early."

Justin looked up. It was Ethan, the musician he'd met at the Zodiac Club. "Hello. My cousin gave me this list, but I don't know where any of these places are located."

"Give that to me." Ethan took the list and perused it. "I know where you can get all this stuff."

"You do?" said Justin.

"Sure! It's a cinch." Ethan slipped his arm around Justin's shoulder. "I don't have any classes until this afternoon, so I'll take you."

"Gee, thanks!" Justin said in relief. "You're a lifesaver."

"It's my pleasure. And I really mean that." Ethan offered a feral smile.

Ethan squired Justin around the Village like a tour guide, pointing out all the major landmarks, both famous and infamous. "A mob guy was rubbed out in there," he said, pointing to an Italian restaurant. "And this deli has great pastrami. And over there -- that used to be Mrs. De Passe's house, until she moved to Brooklyn."

"I've heard that name -- Mrs. De Passe," said Justin. "Who's she?"

"One of the Elders," Ethan replied. "She's really old and really powerful. She was a good friend of Gillian's mother when they were younger, but now she and Gillian are rivals. If you want to see a real picture-book witch -- that's Bianca De Passe, warts and all!" Ethan glanced around furtively. "But don't quote me!"

Justin snickered. "You act like you're afraid of her."

Ethan's face was serious. "You'd be afraid of her, too, if you'd heard some of the stories I've heard! She owns the Good Luck Herb Company and a couple of other businesses around here. And she's got connections all over the world, so she's real big shot. And she's rich. Her house in Brooklyn is like a castle -- a haunted castle!"

"Why are she and Gillian rivals?"

"Because they're both very powerful," said Ethan. "And Mrs. De Passe is jealous of Gillian because she's young and beautiful."

"She really is beautiful," Justin agreed.

"I'd make out with her -- and I don't even like girls!" Ethan laughed. "What about you, Justin?"

"Make out with Gillian?" Justin wrinkled his nose. "She's my cousin!"

"Witches often mate with their cousins," Ethan informed him. "That keeps Power within the family. But I didn't mean that. I meant not liking girls."

"Oh." Justin slowed his pace. "There's the herb place. I hope they have mugwort, whatever that is. I wouldn't want to go back to Gillian without it."

"They'll have it," said Ethan. "What's the matter? Do you have a problem with me asking you if you're queer? You're a warlock, so I just assumed. Hey, I'm queer. And you're cute."

Justin gaped at Ethan. "Are you making a pass at me?" Justin had lusted after other boys in the past, but he'd never had the nerve to act on that lust.

Ethan smirked. "Of course, but there's nothing we can do about it yet. You haven't been Initiated, right?"

"What do you mean?" Justin was puzzled. "Like into a fraternity?"

"Sort of! Like getting your cherry popped -- officially." Ethan rolled his eyes. "You are a real square, Justy! Your cousin and your aunt will tell you all about it -- eventually. But don't let them know I clued you in or Gillian will turn me into a toad! And that's not a metaphor!"

"I have no idea what the heck you're talking about!" Justin's head started to throb. This was all too much for him to take in.

Ethan patted Justin's arm. "Let's get those herbs."

The Good Luck Herb Company was dark, dusty, and smelled like a rotting garden. Glass jars and wooden boxes filled with dried herbs crammed every bit of spare space, and weird plants hung in bunches from the ceiling. Ignatius, a wizened warlock with a smoker's cough, bustled around the shop, filling pouches with the items on Gillian's list. "So, you're Queenie's nephew?"

"Grand-nephew. This is an interesting place."

"I know your grandmother, Gwynyth, well," Ignatius hacked. "And Morgan, of course. They supply my shop. How are things at Evening Primrose Farm?"

Justin shook his head. "I don't know. I've never been there. And I've never met my grandmother. She and my mother are estranged."

"Too bad." Ignatius reached into a bucket and pulled out a damp root. It looked like a brown disembodied penis. "Did you say you needed mandrake?" He held the disgusting thing out for Justin's inspection.

"I don't think so." Justin stepped back. The creepy root seemed to be quivering like it was alive.

"Not mandrake. Mugwort." Ethan pointed to the list. "By the way, do you have any cannabis sativa?"

Ignatius snorted. "You want me to get shut down by the cops and thrown into the Tombs?"

"I was only asking," said Ethan. "Don't get mad."

"You boys will get into trouble with that stuff!" Ignatius warned. He rang up the purchases and put them into a paper bag. "Here. Say hello to Queenie from me."

"Thanks, Mr. Ignatius," said Justin.

"Ignatius," the old warlock grunted. "And tell Miss Gillian that I've ordered more aloe plants, if she wants one."

"I will."

The boys left the shop and walked up Sullivan Street.

"What was that herb Ignatius warned you about?" asked Justin.

"The cannabis?" Ethan grinned. "He's got some, but he won't sell it to me, the old goat!"

Justin frowned. "What is it?"

"You know," said Ethan. "Hemp. Tea. Reefer." But Justin's blank look told the other boy that he really didn't know. "I'll get some from my friend Wythe. He knows a guy who brings it up from Mexico. Primo quality."

"What do you do with it?" Justin tried to imagine Ethan cooking.

"You smoke it, dummy!" Ethan sighed. "You really are from Squaresville! I'm hungry. Come on, I know a place where we can get some pastries that will send you over the moon!"

"That sounds great!" Justin was hungry, too, but then he was always hungry. "Where's this place?"

"On Bleecker Street," said Ethan. "The Liberty Bakery. Right next door to the Liberty Cafe."


	10. Chapter 10

  
Author's notes: At the Liberty Cafe.  


* * *

January 1958.  
  
"One apple Danish, one lemon Danish, and two bagels," Ethan ordered.  
  
The petite colored girl in the pink peasant blouse nodded and began putting the baked goods into a paper bag.  
  
"Can we have some butter and cream cheese? We're going to eat next door."  
  
"Tell Deb to toast the bagels," said the girl. "She's got a new toaster."  
  
"What happened to the old one?" Ethan asked.  
  
"Caught on fire." The girl pushed the paper bag over the counter. "That'll be 50 cents."  
  
"50 cents!" Ethan exclaimed.  
  
"Vic's charging for the cream cheese now," said the girl. "Sorry."  
  
Ethan sighed and turned to Justin. "You got an extra dime?"  
  
"Oh, sure." Justin reached into his pocket and took a dime out of the change left from Gillian's cash. "Let me pay for the whole thing."  
  
Ethan grinned. "Thanks, man!" Then he winked at the girl behind the counter. "Thanks, Daphne."  
  
The girl shrugged. "This your new boyfriend?"  
  
"Might be." Ethan nudged Justin. "Let's get a table."  
  
The Liberty Bakery and the Liberty Cafe were connected by a small door because they were owned by the same family, the Grassis. Vic ran the bakery, which supplied goods to the cafe run by his sister, Debbie Novotny. Deb's son Michael spent much of his time running between the two businesses, washing dishes, carrying supplies, and helping both Vic and his mother, while Daphne, a local girl whose mother was a former artist's model, commanded the front counter.  
  
"This is an Italian bakery," said Ethan as he and Justin carried their food into the cafe and sat at a wooden table. The place was empty except for an old man reading the Village Voice in the corner. "But his bagels aren't bad. Vic's pastries are the best, though. That's why I got the Danishes, too. Hey, Emmett! Can you toast our bagels?"  
  
A tall, skinny man in a long apron came out of the kitchen. "Keep your shirt on, honey! I only have two hands!" He stopped when he saw Justin. "You're that boy from Christopher Street! What was your name again?"  
  
"Hi!" he greeted Emmett. "Justin. I told you I'd come and see you."  
  
"Justin!" Emmett repeated. "Did you find your cousin?"  
  
"Yes, thanks. I'm all settled."  
  
Ethan pouted. "Do you two know each other?"  
  
"Don't get all jealous," Emmett drawled in his Mississippi accent. "The boy was wandering around outside the subway station, looking for MacDougal Street. I only pointed him in the right direction."  
  
"He walked with me all the way," Justin said. "I'd still be lost if Emmett hadn't come to my rescue. I'm glad to see you here."  
  
"Well, you won't see me much longer," Emmett confided. "I got that job at Macy's! I'm starting Monday!"  
  
"Doing what?" Ethan sniffed. "Selling ladies' lingerie?"  
  
"Apprentice window dresser!" Emmett said, his eyes shining. "The world of High Fashion, here I come!"  
  
"Can we get these bagels toasted?" Ethan said impatiently. "And two cappuccinos."  
  
Emmett rolled his eyes. "Coming right up, Mr. Paganini." He scooped up the bagels and trotted back to the kitchen.  
  
"That guy bugs me," said Ethan. "Does he have to be so... so obvious?"  
  
"I think he's nice," said Justin. He picked up the lemon Danish and bit into it. "This is really good!"  
  
"I told you," Ethan said smugly. "Vic's the best."  
  
"What's a bagel taste like?" Justin asked. "As good as this?"  
  
Ethan stared at his new friend. "Haven't you ever had a bagel before? Where the heck did you come from?"  
  
"Connecticut," Justin replied.  
  
"Don't they have any good delis there?" Ethan couldn't imagine a place where you couldn't get a decent bagel.  
  
"No," said Justin. "They don't have any delis because they don't have any Jewish people. It's restricted."  
  
"Shit!" Ethan cried. "No wonder you left!"  
  
Justin tried to hide his shock at Ethan's language. No one in Connecticut said such words -- at least not openly. "Yeah." Justin took a deep breath. "Shit." The word felt odd in his mouth. Forbidden. Good.  
  
"Here you go, boys!" Emmett set down a chipped china plate. The bagels had been halved, toasted, and slathered with butter and cream cheese. "A meal fit for a prince... and a frog." Emmett smirked at Ethan.  
  
"Go sit on it, Emmett!" Ethan huffed. Then he dug into his bagel, taking a noisy bite. "Where's the cappuccino?"  
  
"Coming!" Emmett did a swirl. "And I adore coming!" Then he danced off to the back wall where the coffeemaking machines were located.  
  
"See what I mean?" said Ethan. "Em's an embarrassment to self-respecting queers."  
  
"He seems happy," Justin countered. "And he's not bothering anyone. Is he... you know? Like us?"  
  
"A warlock?" Ethan made a face. "Hell, no! He's just a nelly queen like every other nelly queen in the Village. This is an outsider cafe. There's a witch cafe over on Sullivan Street called Arabica, but it doesn't have Vic's pastries. That guy isn't a warlock, but he sure bakes like one! How do you like the bagel?"  
  
Justin picked it up and tried it. It was hot and crusty, but soft in the middle, the cream cheese and melting butter rich and sweet. "Great!" he said with his mouth full.  
  
"You're dripping." Ethan wiped a drop of butter off Justin's face and then licked his finger. "You taste great, too."  
  
Justin was incapable of blushing, but he felt distinctly uneasy at Ethan's touch. This thing about the Initiation -- he'd have to ask Gillian and Queenie about it. Or maybe he'd ask Nicky. After all, Nicky was his closest male relative now that he was away from home. He'd steer him right.  
  
"Quit that." Justin pushed his hand away, but Ethan only laughed.  
  
Somehow, Justin didn't trust Ethan. And although Justin was eager to lose his virginity, Ethan, with his scraggly goatee, unwashed hair, and supercilious manner wasn't exactly his dream man.  
  
"Hola!" called a voice. "Friends, Romans, and countrymen! Can we get a couple of espressos over here?"  
  
Justin turned around. Two women and a tall, dark-haired man had entered the cafe and taken over the table next to them. The tall man wore a black leather jacket and a long red handknitted scarf that swept almost to the floor. He glanced over at Justin and the boy felt like a spark had jumped between them. But then he turned back to the two women and eased himself into a chair, stretching out his long legs.  
  
Ethan glared at the newcomers. "Asshole. There's a guy who thinks he's Mother Nature's gift to the world."  
  
"Who is he?" Justin whispered. He didn't want the man to hear them talking about him.  
  
"Some actor. He studies with Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio. He thinks he's the new Brando. The blonde is his girlfriend. She works at a gallery in Midtown. And other woman is her roommate. I don't know what she does."  
  
Justin couldn't take his eyes off the tall man, who was cracking jokes with the two women. His profile was like a figure on a Greek coin. Justin itched to have his sketchpad, to catch a quick likeness of the stranger. "Are they... our kind?"  
  
Ethan snorted. "No way! All outsiders. I told you this was an outsiders' cafe." Ethan narrowed his eyes when he saw Justin gazing avidly at the other man. "Take a hint, Justy -- stay away from that guy. He's not only an outsider, he's straight."  
  
"Straight?" Justin didn't understand the term.  
  
"Not a queer." Ethan shook his head. Justin couldn't be that dumb, could he? Where the hell was Connecticut, anyway? Didn't they know anything there? "Guys like that are all ego. They'll flirt with you, lead you on, but try anything and they'll knock your block off!"  
  
"I get it," Justin said sadly. His crushes on the boys in his school had always been one-sided because of just that fear. "What's his name?"  
  
Ethan curled his lip in distaste. "Kinney. Brian Kinney. Now forget you ever heard it!"  



	11. Chapter 11

  
Author's notes: A spark.  


* * *

January 1958.  
  
  
"Well, well, well! Brian Kinney! What brings Your Majesty to my humble coffeehouse?"  
  
A stout red-haired woman came out of the kitchen, her hands on her hips, and stood over the trio at the table.  
  
The tall actor -- Brian Kinney -- got up and gave her a loud smooch on the cheek. "Good news, Deb -- I got that part! I am now the understudy for Brent Pearson in the new Broadway production of 'Happy Endings.' I'll be getting $200 a week -- guaranteed, whether I go on or not. What do you think about that?"  
  
Debbie Novotny tried not to smile at Brian's delight in his new-found success. "It's about time you had a steady gig. When was your last paycheck? Spear carrier on 'Julius Caesar' at 'Shakespeare Under the Stars'? Or that commercial you did for that new butt-ugly Buick?"  
  
Brian tossed his head. "Those were both over a year ago! Since then I've done Shaw and Ibsen in summer stock in Pennsylvania, that one-act play at the People's Theatre in New Jersey, and eight weeks on the road as the second lead in 'Picnic.' Not to mention being accepted at the Actors Studio."  
  
"Does that mean you're going to settle your tab here?" Debbie inquired. "It was over $30 last time I looked."  
  
"Of course I will." Brian sat back down. "As soon as I get paid. We open in three weeks."  
  
"I think it's wonderful!" Lindsay gushed. She took Brian's hand and squeezed it. As soon as they put a little more money in the bank they could afford to get married. With what she made working at the Bloom Gallery and now with Brian having a steady income -- well, he would see the necessity of getting married. And it better be quickly, she thought. Because I'll have to tell him soon. Really soon...  
  
"Can we get those espressos?" said Brian. "Emmett! What's taking so long?"  
  
"I'm busy doing things!" Emmett huffed as he hurried out of the kitchen with a tray of clean coffee cups. "I just washed these! Maybe you could invest in a dishwasher, Deb?"  
  
"I already have a dishwasher," Debbie cracked. "His name is Michael!"  
  
"Where is Mikey?" Brian asked. "I want to tell him the good news."  
  
"Vic has him delivering a cake uptown," said Debbie. "Vic's getting more into catering and this is an important party for some fancy Park Avenue debutante. Mikey borrowed a truck from Carl and he's driving the cake up there."  
  
"Vic should buy a truck," suggested Melanie. "Then he wouldn't have to borrow one every time he had to make a delivery."  
  
"Vic's thinking about it," said Debbie. "But where would we park the thing in the Village? And gas is up to almost 20 cents a gallon! I think he should focus on the bakery, but you know Vic -- he's got big dreams."  
  
"Excuse me," Ethan interrupted. "Could we have some more cappuccino?"  
  
Debbie regarded the pair at the next table. "Well, Mr. Gold. I haven't seen you in here recently."  
  
"I've been busy," he divulged, glancing over at Kinney and the two females. "The new term started at Julliard. I'm in Maestro Bulgatti's Master Class for violin. He only accepts four students at a time."  
  
"I've always hated violin music," Brian confided to Lindsay and Melanie. "Doesn't it remind you of two cats caught in an elevator shaft and screaming to get out?"  
  
"You wouldn't know good music if it slapped you in the face, Kinney," Ethan retorted. "Everyone knows you're tone deaf. And rhythmically challenged to boot!"  
  
"I may not be the best dancer in the world," Brian admitted. "But I know how to make the right moves where it counts -- in the sheets!"  
  
Lindsay blushed deeply. "Brian, please! Must you be so... graphic?"  
  
"That guy's a pig," Ethan sniffed to Justin. "Typical crude straight guy."  
  
Suddenly Brian was standing over them. "Fiddle Boy only thinks that because every time he gets smashed on cheap vino or hopped up on reefer he hits on me. And he hates being turned down. Of course, I'm not interested in what he's got in his pants, even if I could find it! Besides, who would want a runt like him when I've got a goddess like this!" Brian turned to Lindsay and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon!"  
  
Lindsay blushed again. "Brian! Stop!"  
  
"I don't want to be the one to suspend such a stunning scene," said Emmett, arriving with his tray. "But here's your espressos -- and your cappuccinos." He set the cups on the two tables. "Enjoy my service while you can, y'all. Because next week I'll be mingling with the fashion elite at Macy's!"  
  
"Emmett!" cried Melanie. "You got the job! Congratulations!"  
  
"That's so wonderful," said Lindsay. "Will you get a discount?"  
  
"I think so," Emmett mused. "Employees usually do."  
  
"I may need some new clothes... soon." Lindsay glanced at Brian. "I can't ask my parents for any more money or they'll make me go back to Philadelphia."  
  
"We'll miss him, won't we?" Debbie put her arms around Emmett and hugged him. "This boy's like a second son to me! And Teddy, too!"  
  
"Ted's taking me out to dinner to celebrate!" Emmett proclaimed. "He's so sweet! And we're going to a show!"  
  
"Stay away from the new Cyril Jenson play -- it's a stinker," said Brian. "I was up for a part in that and now I'm glad I didn't get it."  
  
"Yeah," Ethan whispered. "It's a hit. Kinney's never in a hit. Only flops and experimental theater they have to pay people to see."  
  
"Did you say something, Gold?" asked Brian. "I thought I heard someone twisting a cat's tail."  
  
"Let's get out of this dump, Justy." Ethan stood up and put on his coat. "I don't like the atmosphere."  
  
"But I'm not finished with my cappuccino!" said Justin. He didn't want to leave the cafe -- the conversation was much too interesting. And so was the tall actor.  
  
"That's right, Sunshine," said Debbie. "Don't let a good cup of java go to waste!" She sighed and scratched her head. "Now that Em's leaving, I'll have to get a new waiter. The one I had before him broke so many dishes I had to fire him. And the one before that stole money from the cash register to get his trumpet out of hock. And the one before that..."  
  
"I'll do it!"  
  
They all turned to look at the blond boy with Ethan Gold. He'd jumped up from his seat and had his hand in the air like he was anxious to be called on in class.  
  
"I'll take the job!" Justin wasn't sure what had made him say it, but once the words were out of his mouth he knew he wanted it badly. "I won't break anything and I don't have a trumpet!"  
  
"You've got to be kidding!" said Ethan, tugging at Justin's sweater to pull him away. "Gillian will flip her lid!"  
  
"What's your name, Sunshine?" said Debbie. He looked like a sweet boy, even if he was hanging around with the insufferable Ethan Gold.  
  
"Justin Holroyd Taylor," he said. "Please? I know I'll do a good job if you give me a chance."  
  
Debbie looked at Emmett, who grinned and nodded. "Okay, Mr. Justin Holroyd Taylor. You've got yourself a position as chief waiter extraordinaire at the Liberty Cafe! You can start tomorrow."  
  
"Thanks!" said Justin. "You won't regret it!" He said the words to Debbie, but his eyes were on someone else -- the tall, dark-haired actor, Brian Kinney.


	12. Chapter 12

  
Author's notes: Gillan and Justin talk.  


* * *

January 1958.

 

"I don't know what you were thinking! How could you do this, Justin?"

Gillian tried to be calm, but she was angry. On his first day out, Justin had entangled himself with a bunch of mortals! And that damned Ethan -- he was useless! He was supposed to keep Justin out of trouble and he couldn't even manage something as simple as getting him home without incident.

"I'm sorry, Gillian." Justin's voice was meek, but his eyes were defiant. "But I need a job. I want to pull my weight around here. And Debbie -- Mrs. Novotny -- says I can set my own hours. So if I start classes, I can work around them. And if you need me, I can take off whenever I want. I guess things are pretty loose in the Village. Debbie said that as long as I don't break too many dishes and don't steal anything, I should be fine!"

Gillian glared at Justin, then at Ethan. The little musician cowered under her scrutiny, but Justin seemed unconcerned. Either he truly didn't fear her or he was too stupid to be afraid. Gillian reached out her mind to feel for his. What she came up against was a wall. A very solid, very intractable wall. Gillian took a deep breath. Yes, Justin had a strong Power. He didn't know how to wield that Power, but nevertheless he was using it, albeit unconsciously, to repel her.

Pyewacket rubbed against her leg. She could try to use the cat to break Justin's will, but what good would that do? Then he'd be as worthless as Ethan -- or Nicky. That was the last thing she wanted. No, Justin's Power needed to be nurtured. Developed. Guided to the correct purpose. She would have to send out word that she needed a strong witch to Initiate him -- and soon. This boy wouldn't waste his days sitting around the shop or Queenie's apartment, waiting for things to happen. He was obviously anxious to get out into the world and make his mark.

"I'm sorry I was sharp with you, my dear," said Gillian. changing her tone. "Sit down, boys." She coaxed them to the sofa and then she slipped onto the white fur rug, folding her long legs under her.

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. Gillian was furious, but she wasn't going to hex him -- at least not right now. He'd dodged that bullet! He never should have agreed to keep an eye on this country bumpkin! Justin was cute, but not worth getting all messed up by Gillian Holroyd.

"I think it will be fun for Justin to work at the cafe," said Queenie, putting in her two cents. "In my younger days I worked at a speakeasy on Houston Street. Oh, those were happy days! Jazz music and bootleggers and the police breaking down the door and arresting everyone! I climbed out the window of the ladies's room and escaped through the alley!"

"It's nice for you to stroll down memory lane, Auntie, but this is a different era. I don't like Justin spending so much time around outsiders!" Gillian snapped.

"I've been around nothing but outsiders all my life," Justin pointed out. "And I've never had a problem with them. Up until a few weeks ago I was an outsider. I still feel like an outsider."

"You were never an outsider, Justin," Gillian corrected him. "You simply didn't know your own true identity."

"He can go over there tomorrow and quit," Ethan suggested. "That's what I'd do!"

"I don't want to quit! I want to work there!" Justin retorted. "And I'm not you -- thank goodness!"

"Boys! Stop arguing -- please!" Gillian was getting a headache. If this was what motherhood was like, she was happy she wasn't planning to breed -- ever! "If you wanted a job, why didn't you ask Ignatius at the herb shop? That's where Nicky used to work."

Justin grimaced. The last place he wanted to work was in that creepy herb shop. "I didn't think of it. But I like the cafe. Debbie is really nice. And I can have all the pastries and bagels I want."

"Not to mention that a certain someone hangs out there," said Ethan under his breath. He mouthed the name 'Brian Kinney' silently.

"Shut up," Justin warned.

"What did you say?" Gillian frowned at the boys whispering together.

"Nothing," Justin replied. "Ethan is telling me what a jerk I am."

"I think it's time for Ethan to go," Gillian pronounced.

"Yeah." He stood up as if on cue and put on his coat. "I've got to go. My grandmother will be wondering where I am."

Queenie walked Ethan to the door to see him out, while Justin and Gillian sat in silence. Finally, Justin broke the tension between them by apologizing once again. He didn't want his cousin mad at him, but he also wanted to have a little freedom. After all, he was 19 years old! A grown man!

"What's done is done," replied Gillian as she stroked the cat. "At least you brought me the herbs. But you forgot to pick up my dry cleaning."

"Oh. Sorry." Justin hung his head. Another screw up. "I'll go and get it tomorrow."

"You'll probably only last a few days at that cafe. Working with mortals is so dreary," Gillian mused. "But we'll have to find you an art class. Your mother was adamant that you pursue your art. She believes that is your gift, but I'm not so certain." The art gift didn't really run in the Holroyd family, but occasionally a gift would appear out of the blue, like a mutation.

"I've been drawing since I was really little," Justin offered. "I love it." He paused. "This woman at the cafe, Lindsay, works at a gallery on 7th Avenue. She knows a lot of artists. She says there's a man who has a studio just off Washington Square. He gives lessons and conducts life classes. She said that if I went over there and showed him my portfolio, he might let me into it."

"Do you have a portfolio?" asked Gillian.

"Yes, but I'll need to beef it up. I don't have many figure drawings, mostly still lifes. And no nudes. We didn't do nudes in my high school art classes!" Justin laughed.

"I imagine you didn't." Gillian stood and stretched like a cat. It was almost time for her date with Shep. Here she was lecturing Justin about spending too much time with outsiders while she was seeing one herself. But she could handle it, while Justin was still too young to recognize the danger. "Go upstairs and write to your mother. She'll be anxious to hear from you."

"I will," said Justin. He kissed his cousin lightly on the cheek. "I think this job will be good for me. I'll meet people and find out a lot about New York. Actors and artists and musicians all hang out there -- just the kind of people I've always wanted to be around."

"Be careful, Justin," Gillian cautioned. "Never let your guard down around mortals, no matter how friendly they may seem. You can never trust them! I mean that!"

"I'll be careful, Gillian," he said. "I promise."

"All right then," she replied. "Good night."

She watched the boy go, on his way upstairs to Queenie's apartment on the top floor. One thing Gillian Holroyd knew about was men. In fact, she was an expert on men, both warlock and mortal. But she had a lot to understand about boys -- especially boys as strong-willed as her cousin Justin. Yes, about that Gillian still had much to learn.


	13. Chapter 13

  
Author's notes: Lindsay tells Brian a secret.  


* * *

January 1958.

 

"Brian, we have to talk."

Lindsay was nervous. She didn't know how to tell him. She hadn't even told her best friend and roommate, Melanie, and she told Mel everything.

How could she be pregnant? They'd been so careful! She'd gotten a diaphragm from a sympathetic doctor in the Village -- her own family doctor in Philly had flatly refused even to consider giving one to an unmarried girl and instead lectured her mercilessly on the shame of premarital sex -- and used it every single time they'd made love. But something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

She'd made an appointment with a doctor who had an office not far from the gallery. She called herself Mrs. Kinney -- and maybe soon that would be true! -- and went for the rabbit test. The result only confirmed what she already knew in her heart: that come July she'd be a mother. She and Brian would be parents.

They could get married at City Hall. It wouldn't be the wedding of her dreams, with a beautiful white gown, a bevy of bridesmaids, and a lovely reception at the country club, but it would be all they needed. She and Brian would get their own apartment. Mel would find another roommate soon enough and Brian could give up his flat in that dingy walk-up on Bedford Street. Her parents would never approve of Brian, of course. He was Irish and his family was from Pittsburgh; they were nobodies, her father would say, not our kind of people. But they'd be proud when Brian became a huge success as an actor, as Lindsay had no doubt he would. He was understudying the lead in a new Broadway show and soon he'd be a star in his own right. Everyone said so! Brian had star power. Charisma. People were drawn to him as if he had a magical allure. He was handsome. Sexy. Talented. Her parents would be happy for her. Eventually.

And they'd be happy to have a grandchild. Their first grandchild. Lindsay's sister Lynette had married two years before and already she and her husband were on the rocks, so Lindsay didn't expect them to be having any kids. "There's never been a divorce in the Peterson family and that's that!" her father had thundered. So Lynette and her dour stockbroker stayed married, unhappily, for now.

That wouldn't happen to her and Brian. Never happen to her and Brian! They'd be happy! Very, very happy...

"What's up, baby?" Brian reclined on the pillow and glanced at his watch. "What time is Mouldy Mel due home?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her that," Lindsay admonished. Although they were civil to each other in public, Brian and Lindsay's best friend hated each other with a passion. Brian said it was because Mel was secretly a bulldyke in love with her beautiful roommate, but Lindsay knew that was ridiculous. Melanie was only concerned for her well-being.

"It's only 9:00, but she has to work tomorrow, so she won't be too late."

"Good," said Brian, lighting a cigarette. "She bugs the shit out of me with her sour face and crappy attitude. You should move out."

"That's what I've been meaning to talk to you about." Lindsay paused, trying to form her thoughts.

"You looking for a new place? Or will Smelly Melly be moving?" Brian took another drag on the Pall Mall. He had a joint in the pocket of his leather jacket, but Lindsay was a total square about reefer and wouldn't let him light up in her apartment.

"I was thinking... maybe we could move in together?" Lindsay said hopefully.

But Brian didn't hesitate. "No. I've told you before -- my career is just picking up and I can't be tied down. I need my freedom and I need my space. Acting takes a lot of energy. My head has to be clear and having a female around, bitching at me and getting underfoot -- no fucking way, man!"

"Please don't use that language, Brian," said Lindsay, turning away. "It's vulgar."

Brian shrugged. "Then I'm vulgar. But I'm also honest. You knew the score when we got together, Lindz. I don't do relationships. I don't believe in marriage or any of that other middle class bullshit. You wanted me -- and here I am! So don't change the rules of the game now, baby."

"They've already changed," Lindsay said in a low voice.

Brian frowned. This sounded ominous. "What do you mean?"

Lindsay gulped. "I'm pregnant."

"Shit!" said Brian. "How did that happen?"

"The usual way!" Now Lindsay was getting angry. "It isn't as if I did it all by myself!"

Brian stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedstand. "You said you were using a diaphragm!"

"I was!"

"Well?"

Lindsay's anger drained away. "Things go wrong. It's not foolproof."

Brian got out of bed and started pulling on his jeans. "What are you going to do about it?"

Lindsay felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "We could get married. Mel can be our witness."

But Brian's face was impassive. "And what's Plan B?"

"I don't know." Lindsay knew her dream was impossible. There was no way Brian would marry her. Mel had been right -- he was a selfish asshole who only cared about himself.

"You must know about someone who can take care of it," said Brian, his voice harsh. "Or Mel does. She knows a lot of people. Isn't her cousin a doctor?"

"I can't ask Mel to ask her cousin about that!" Lindsay was horrified. "It's illegal! He could go to jail!"

"A lot of things are illegal," Brian said ruefully. "But that doesn't stop people from doing them."

"Then I don't know what to do," said Lindsay. And she burst into tears.

Females! They always cry when things go wrong! Brian shook his head. He never cried. That was for women and guys who were weak. That wasn't him! Even when his old man batted him around when he was a kid, he'd never shed a single tear. He wouldn't give the old bastard the satisfaction of seeing him cry!

But Lindsay wouldn't stop it. She just kept bawling. This was a hell of a note. That's what he got for fucking around with women!

"Don't worry," Brian finally said. "I'll find someone. We'll take care of it."

Brian handed her his handkerchief and she blew her nose noisily. "Thanks," she sniffed. "I'm sorry I lost control. It won't happen again."

"Just be cool, baby," he said. "Everything will be okay."

Brian dressed quickly. All he'd wanted was a little fun and this is how it ended up! And it would cost him, too. Just as he was going to be making decent money, he'd have to shell out for this! Goddamn it! The last time this had happened with that chick in summer stock it had cost him $400 -- money he couldn't spare at the time. And he hated having to get that money. But it looked like he'd need to go back to the 'bank' again. Fuck!

"Will... will you call me?" Lindsay asked as the tears started to fall again.

Jesus! He had to get the hell out of there!

"I'll let you know what I find out." And he left her alone in the apartment, crying in the bed.

It was beginning to snow as Brian walked out onto Hudson Street. It was only January and winter was still in its infancy. He wasn't getting paid for the rehearsal period, but once the play began its run, he'd be rolling in cash -- sort of. But at least he could cover his back rent and pay off his tab at the Liberty Cafe and the bakery. And at the San Remo and the White Horse, his favorite bars.

And the Mumbo Jumbo on Christopher Street, too. He winced thinking about that place. He didn't like to go there too often. It wasn't safe. None of those places were safe. The cops were always raiding them.

Brian took the 7th Avenue subway uptown and got off at the West 72nd Street stop. The building was right there in front of him. So fucking handy! Too handy.

The Dakota was a big, ugly, Gothic relic of a building, built in the last century and full of large, musty old apartments and musty old people. With a few exceptions. It also had a number of theater people. Some older actors and classical musicians who wanted to be near Broadway and Carnegie Hall. And the Park, which was literally across the street. And producers, too. Or one particular producer.

The doorman recognized him immediately and swung open the iron gate to the courtyard entry, but his expression told Brian that he didn't approve. That almost made Brian turn around. It was still early. He could go over and hit the Bird Circuit on the East Side. Find a trick. But that would only put a few dollars in his pocket and he needed more than that. He needed money for his rent. For food. For some new clothes. Enough to tide him over until he got paid. And now he needed information and cash for Lindsay. One thing about R.J. -- he'd know what to do. He'd probably even arrange the whole thing. He'd insist on it. That's the way R.J. operated. He took care of things. And he especially took care of Brian.

The apartment was on the fifth floor. Brian hesitated at the door, straightening his leather jacket and his hair, making his face neutral, his manner nonchalant. Then he rang the bell.

"Brian. I'm surprised to see you here," said the man. He was wearing a black silk dressing gown and smoking a long French cigarette.

"Hi. Can I come in?"

"Are you in trouble? Do you need money?"

"Maybe." Brian shrugged. "Does that matter?" He knew R.J. would let him in anyway. He always let him in.

"No," he sighed. "It doesn't matter." Brian Kinney was bad news. He'd always been bad news and always would be, but he couldn't resist him.

And so Ronald J. Rosenblum, distinguished theatrical producer with two legit plays and one musical comedy currently running on Broadway, opened the door and let his former lover into the apartment.


	14. Chapter 14

  
Author's notes: R.J.'s apartment.  


* * *

January 1958.

 

"I was just having a nightcap," said R.J. "Will you join me?"

"You already know the answer to that." Brian tossed his leather jacket across the back of the antique sofa and sat down. "You got some new furniture, but this is still the same old depressing dump."

"Yes," said R.J. He took out his best bottle of Scotch and poured a neat glass for Brian. He knew what Brian liked to drink and eat and smoke as well as he knew every line of the man's face, every plane of his long, lean body. "I redecorated last year. Cost me a small fortune."

"It's still a dump," Brian commented. "I don't know why you want to live in this fucking haunted house."

"The Dakota is a classic piece of New York architecture." He gave Brian the Scotch and watched him bolt it down.

"It's creepy." Brian handed the glass back for a refill. "I don't know why you don't get a place in one of those new buildings on the East Side. The elevators actually work and you don't have gargoyles hanging outside your window."

"I like it here," said R.J. He refilled the glass and watched Brian gulp that down. He's really nervous tonight, he thought. Something's up. "It suits me."

Brian shrugged. "No skin off my ass. What are you having?"

"Sherry." R.J. held up his own glass. The amber liquid glistened in the elegant crystal.

Brian grimaced. "I don't know how you can drink that swill. It's for old women -- and fags."

R.J. winced, but didn't respond. Brian loved baiting him. "Congratulations on landing that part in 'Happy Endings.'"

Brian smiled smugly. "You heard about that?"

"Of course," R.J said smoothly. "There's not much that happens in the New York theater that I don't hear about."

"You didn't have anything to do with it -- did you?" Brian asked suspiciously.

"No," R.J. said honestly. "You won that role on your own merits, Brian. You're a talented actor. Very talented. You should have had the lead outright, but Brent Pearson is a big name and the producers need him to attract investors."

"Yeah," said Brian. "I can act rings around fucking Pearson, but what can you do?"

"You'll get your chance, Brian," said R.J. "Pearson is a movie star, not a theater actor. He'll get bored saying the same lines every night. Then, when he returns to Hollywood, you can step into the role and make it your own. When do you start rehearsals?"

"Monday," said Brian, toying with his empty glass. R.J. topped it off again. "Then out-of-town tryouts in New Haven and Philadelphia."

"It's an excellent play," said R.J. "It should have a long run."

"That's what I'm hoping. I'm sick of picking up a couple of day's work here and there. It's not Shakespeare, but it's not bad. And the part is a good one. I know I can make the most of it."

"You will, Brian. Your career is just beginning." R.J. sat down on the sofa, next to Brian, but not too close. He yearned to touch his former lover, but he didn't dare. Brian could be unpredictable. Volatile. That's one of the things that made him so irresistible. He radiated sex and danger, like a beautiful wild animal that might turn on you at any moment, yet you couldn't resist reaching for him.

"Listen, R.J. -- I hate to ask, but I won't be getting paid until the play starts running. That's three fucking weeks!"

"And you need money?" I should have known, thought R.J. He'd only come here if he couldn't get money any other way. That's how it's always been.

"If I don't pay some of my back rent, I'll get booted out of the rathole I'm living in. And I need some new clothes, too. I can't go to rehearsal in the same pair of jeans and a tee shirt every day. I'll look like a bum! And..."

R.J. raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"Lindsay's pregnant," he said flatly.

"Lindsay? Your girlfriend?" R.J. knew Brian fucked women on occasion, but wasn't sure he was making a practice of it. Of course, a steady girlfriend helped to maintain the illusion that he was straight, which was necessary if he wanted any kind of career as an actor. Being a 'confirmed bachelor' was fine for a set designer or even a producer, but unless you were an older character actor, like Clifton, or English, like Gielgud or Jack Buchanan, it was deadly to be perceived as a queer. Monty had learned that lesson the hard way and was paying dearly for it out in Hollywood.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Brian huffed. "I don't do girlfriends."

"No?" R.J. smiled. "She's a female and you apparently fuck her, so she's your girlfriend. That's the definition of the term. Do you love her?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? You know better than that, R.J. I don't believe in that shit! Love -- what does it mean, anyway? It's an excuse to get someone into bed. Well, I've never needed to tell someone I loved them to get them into bed -- male or female. I don't believe in lying. And I don't believe in bullshit."

"And you don't believe in love. Yes, I've heard your interesting philosophy before, Brian." R.J. stared at Brian's beautiful face. And he really was beautiful. So beautiful it made his heart hurt. He still loved him. He'd thought it was over. He'd thought he'd moved on, emotionally. But obviously he hadn't. And Brian was still as cold-hearted as he'd ever been. As cold and perfect as a marble statue. "But what about this poor young woman?"

Brian squirmed. R.J. knew the score, so why was he asking stupid questions? "I need money so she can take care of it."

"Money for an abortion?" R.J.'s voice was hard.

Brian flinched. "If you put it that way -- yes."

"That's what it is, so don't hedge words." R.J. stood and began pacing up and down on the Oriental carpet. "When are you going to take responsibility for your actions? When are you going to grow up? Do you have any idea of the impact of your selfish behavior on innocent people?"

But Brian wasn't biting. Everyone always wanted to make him feel guilty -- his mother, the priest at his old parish, his teachers, R.J., Lindsay. Well, the ills of the world weren't all his fault! "Listen, people play the game and they take their chances. That's the way it goes. You know that as well as I do."

"And what does this girl feel about it?"

"How the hell should I know?" Brian said with growing irritation. "She wants to get married! That's what they all want! But I'm not marrying anyone. So sue me!"

R.J. went to the bar and poured himself a double Scotch. He never had more than a single sherry before bed, but he needed something stronger right now. This was the way it had started the last time he'd become entangled with Brian and it had almost ruined him. He'd started drinking heavily after Brian left him and only been able to quit after spending weeks in an expensive hospital for wealthy drunks. After he got out he'd vowed never to let it happen to him again. But...

"Does she have a doctor?"

"No," said Brian. "I thought you might know where she could find one."

R.J. swallowed. He was getting drawn in again. "I'll look into it. Do you have a number where I can reach you?"

"I don't have a phone, but I have the same answering service as before. You know the number. I pick up my messages every day. My friend Mikey lets me use the phone at his family's cafe."

"Still depending on the 'kindness of strangers'?" R.J. remarked cynically.

"I do what I have to do," Brian returned. "I always have. I have to look out for myself because no one else will. It's dog-eat-dog in this world. I'm only trying to survive."

"You don't have to be alone, Brian," said R.J. "You know that."

"And the alternative is to be your kept pretty boy?" Brian snorted. "No thanks! Been there, done that."

R.J. looked away. Staring at Brian too long was like looking directly into the sun. "You say you have an apartment?"

"A cold-water flat in the Village. I wouldn't go so far to call it an apartment. It's a room with a mattress on the floor and a toilet down the hall. But it's mine -- until I get kicked out. Which will be soon if I don't pay that fucking back rent."

R.J. sighed and walked to his desk. It was a fine Louis XIV. A lovely piece of furniture. His apartment in the Dakota was filled with lovely pieces of furniture. But it was all so empty. He'd give it all up in a heartbeat to be living in that cold-water flat with Brian, sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to him. He opened the drawer and took out a key.

"Here." He gave Brian the key.

Brian looked at it thoughtfully. "This to the flat on West 47th Street?"

"Yes. It's available if you need it."

R.J. kept a small apartment on the edge of Hell's Kitchen. It was convenient to his office on Broadway and the Theater District. Convenient for catching a few hours of sleep during a busy week. Or for taking a potential actor for a private 'audition.' Or for making love to someone you didn't want anyone to see coming to your home. Until the day came when you didn't give a damn what anyone thought and begged him to move in with you permanently. To share his life with you -- only to have him laugh in your face.

"Don't you have a new boy living there?" Brian sneered.

"No," said R.J. sadly. "I've learned my lesson." But he hadn't. Not really.

"Still looking for 'true love,' R.J.?" The contempt in Brian's voice was palpable.

"No," R.J. lied. I've already found it, but with someone incapable of loving. Someone who can't return your love no matter how much you might wish he could. Someone who can barely even feel a human emotion. "And here is some cash." He took an envelope from the desk and counted out $500. "Let me know if you need more."

"Thanks." Brian stashed the money and the key in his leather jacket. He stood up and pulled his tee shirt over his head, then began unbuttoning his jeans. "Payment time." he said.

R.J hungrily watched Brian's body reveal itself. The pale chest. The muscular arms. The long legs. Then the cock, which was already half-erect when he shucked his jockey shorts. Brian knew exactly how to play this scene, slowly and deliberately. How to milk it for the greatest effect. He walked towards him, smiling, his arms hot and beckoning.

"No," said R.J., turning away. "Get dressed."

"What the hell?" R.J. thought he heard disappointment in Brian's voice.

"I don't want that, Brian. Not that way. Not now."

"Are you serious?" R.J. had never turned down sex before. No one turned down sex with Brian! Ever.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Whatever the fuck." Brian got dressed. When he put on the leather jacket he double-checked to make sure the money was still there. Money in his pocket was better than anything in the world -- except for fucking and being on stage. "See you around, baby."

R.J. opened the door, letting him out. "I don't think so, Brian." Then he closed it. And locked it. His hands were shaking.

He'll be back, R.J. thought. And, God help me, I'll let him in. Again.


	15. Chapter 15

  
Author's notes: Eavesdropping.  


* * *

January 1958.

 

Justin had only been at his new job at the Liberty Cafe for a few hours, but he already loved it.

Debbie showed him how to make espresso and cappuccino, handed him a pad, a pencil, and an apron, and set him to work.

The very first person he waited on was a beefily handsome, but disheveled man who came in with an attractive blonde after what had obviously been an all-night bender. He got them two espressos and a couple of Vic's special blueberry muffins. Naturally, he began listening to their conversation as he wiped the tables in the cafe. That's when he realized, to his amazement, that the man was Jack Kerouac.

"Florida's a drag, Joycey," he said, lighting a cigarette. "I started a new book, but I can't focus down there. It's too hot."

"When are you doing that interview with Mike Wallace?" asked the woman.

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. In a week or so. The publisher wants me to do all this publicity shit, but it's beat, man! The book is what it is. If it sells, fine, but I'm no spokesman. That kind of jive makes me sweat."

Justin could barely contain his excitement. He had a copy of 'On the Road,' which had been published a few months before, in his bookbag, along with Lawrence Ferlinghetti's 'Pictures of the Gone World,' and he'd read it at least five times, memorizing many of his favorite passages.

"Oh, him," said Deb. "He's been coming in here forever. Did he write something?"

"Yes!" Justin couldn't believe Debbie had never heard of Jack Kerouac and didn't really care that he was currently the most famous and controversial author in America.

"Then tell the bum to settle his tab," Debbie sniffed. "Did he pay for the espressos?"

"The woman did," said Justin.

"Okay, then. And no credit for that bearded pal of his, either. Those guys will eat and drink me into the poorhouse!"

A few minutes later the bearded pal, who Justin knew was Allen Ginsberg, came in with a skinny blond boy. Justin almost dropped his tray when the two men began kissing as they sat at the table. Justin had seen a number of gay couples on the street in the short time he'd been in the Village, but he'd never thought he'd actually see them kissing openly.

"Cool it," Jack said. "I don't need to see that stuff when I'm hung over!"

"Don't be such a square," said Allen. "Especially when the world is so full of beautiful boys! Why here's another one. What's your name, beatific angel?"

"Justin," said Justin. "Can I get you anything?"

"Espresso for me and hot chocolate for Peter." He leaned his shaggy head on the boy's shoulder. "You're new, aren't you?"

"I started today. Do you want anything else, Mr. Ginsberg?"

"A fan!" Allen grinned. "See? I may not be as famous as you, Jack, but I have something better -- I'm infamous! No thank you, angel. Just the espresso."

Justin hustled to get the drinks to the table, then hovered in the background, trying to eavesdrop. Their conversation was mainly about people he didn't know but assumed were other writers and artists he should take note of.

He was so wrapped up in Kerouac and his coterie that Justin didn't even notice that the tall actor who'd caught his attention the day before had slunk into the cafe and sat at a corner table.

"Hey! Can I get some service over here?"

"Sure." Justin leaped over to the table immediately. "What can I get you?"

"Espresso." Brian rubbed his forehead. "You're new, right?"

"I started today," Justin said brightly.

"What's your name again?"

"Justin."

"I'm Brian. You Ethan Gold's boyfriend?"

"No!" Justin asserted. "I hardly know him. I only came to the Village a couple days ago. My cousin is Gillian Holroyd. She has the primitive art shop on MacDougal Street."

"Oh, I know that place. I've walked by there a thousand times, but never gone in," said Brian.

"It's really neat. You should stop by sometime."

"Yeah, I'll do that the next time I need a fertility idol." Brian made a face. "By the way, has that woman I was with yesterday -- Lindsay -- been by? I have some money for her."

"No," Justin shook his head. "I haven't seen her."

"Thanks. Can I get that espresso now?"

"Oh, sure." Justin ran to get the espresso, then brought more muffins to Kerouac's table.

"See that guy sitting in the corner?" said Joyce. "That's Brian Kinney. He's in the Actors Studio."

"So?" grumped Jack, chomping on a muffin.

"I saw him doing an experimental play last year. He's really good. I think he'd be perfect to play Dean Moriarty."

Jack glanced at Brian and shrugged. "He's okay. But I don't have anything to do with Hollywood. If they make a movie of 'On the Road' they're not going to ask me about it."

"But you're the author!" insisted Joyce.

"So? They don't give a shit. James Dean's dead, so they'll probably cast Fred Astaire as Dean and Mickey Rooney as Sal. Those people don't have a damned clue!"

"You don't have to bite my head off," said Joyce. "I was only making a suggestion."

"If you like that guy so much, then go and sit with him!" Jack retorted.

"Don't be ridiculous," Joyce stated. "Now you're just being childish, Jack."

"I think they should get Tony Curtis to play Sal," said Allen. "Did you see 'The Sweet Smell of Success'?"

"Tony Curtis?" Jack snarled. "I'd rather have Mickey Rooney!"

Justin saw Lindsay come in through the bakery door. Her hair was wind-blown and her eyes were red. She went to Brian's table and the next time he looked over there, they were gone.

He trudged back to the kitchen. He'd only gotten the chance to say a few words to Brian. It was funny -- his idol, Jack Kerouac, was in the cafe, but he'd been much more nervous approaching Brian. I really must have a crush on him, he thought. But it seemed that Kerouac's girlfriend had one, too. According to Ethan, everyone in the Village had a crush on Brian Kinney!

Debbie gave him a bag of garbage to take to the dumpster in the alley, but Justin paused when he saw Brian and Lindsay standing there, their heads together.

"Take the money! That's why I got it!" Brian said with frustration.

"But I can't! This is our child!" Lindsay wailed. "Yours and mine!"

"There's no way you can take care of a baby. Are you and Mel going to raise it in that crummy apartment?" said Brian. "That would be a great life!"

"We could get married," Lindsay replied. "My parents will give us money to get started. I know they will!"

"No." Brian turned away. "It's fucking impossible!"

"You don't wa... want to marry me," said Lindsay, her voice catching. "You don't love me!"

Brian didn't answer, but his face said it all. He held out the cash, crumpled in his fist.

Lindsay quietly took the money and put it into her purse. "I... I don't know where to go."

"R.J. is getting me the name of a doctor."

Lindsay stared. Brian had confided a number of things to her -- things she hadn't really wanted to know. "You... you went to him?"

"Yes," said Brian. "It was the only way."

Lindsay wiped her eyes with the back of her glove. "So, you're back with him. That's why you won't marry me."

"I'm not back with him!" Brian huffed. "But you know why I can't marry you. It would be a sham, Lindz, and you know it! I can't marry anyone and I won't do it for show. Not even for the sake of some... baby."

"Your child!" Lindsay sobbed.

"All the more reason to get rid of it," said Brian, his face like stone. "I'm no good, Lindsay, and you should know that better than anyone."

Lindsay turned and ran down the alley. She paused on the sidewalk at Bleecker Street and then disappeared.

Brian watched her, then walked slowly up to the street, going in the other direction.

Justin waited behind the dumpster until they both were gone. Then he went back inside to finish his shift.


	16. Chapter 16

  
Author's notes: Lessons with Gillian.  


* * *

January 1958.

 

"Focus your Power on the paper," Gillian instructed. The pair were seated on the white fur rug in front of the hearth and Justin was having his first lesson in the practice of magic. "Picture it bursting into flames. While you are picturing it, repeat the words I taught you. Form them, but don't speak them out loud."

"Why can't I just say them?" asked Justin. "It feels funny to mouth the words and not really pronounce them."

"The spell works either way," said Gillian. "But it's always wiser not to say things out right. It isn't safe. You never know who is listening."

"Queenie chants her spell aloud," Justin said.

Gillian sighed. "Queenie is set in her ways. She's also indiscreet, if you want to know the truth. I've forbidden her to practice in this building, but she does it anyway."

"This is her home," Justin pointed out. "She should be able to do what she wants in it."

"That's true," Gillian admitted. "But outsiders hear things. That's never good. They ask difficult questions. In the Old Days such questions could get you killed. That's why it's always vital that you remain secretive about what you can do. Never forget that, Justin."

"I won't," he promised.

"Now try to light the paper." Gillian set the sheet of white paper in a large ceramic bowl on the coffee table.

Justin stared into the bowl and pictured the paper catching fire. He tried to feel the heat of the flames. The paper being enveloped. He slowly pronounced the words Gillian had taught him. He didn't want to get them wrong.

The paper began to smolder, a tiny plume of smoke rising from the bowl.

"Concentrate," Gillian whispered. "Harder."

Justin took a deep breath. Fire. Fire. Fire.

There was a puff and the paper was burning with a hot, blue flame.

"Ha!" Justin cried. "I did it! I knew I could!"

"Nicely done," said Gillian, trying to keep her voice even. Yes, it was very good indeed. Nicky still couldn't make such a strong flame and he'd been practicing since he was a boy. Justin was truly talented. Too bad she couldn't have gotten hold of him when he was a child -- then he'd be making real progress by now.

"I could feel the fire in my mind," said Justin. "Then I looked into the bowl and the paper was on fire! That's amazing!"

"It's a simple trick, but good exercise for your Power," Gillian commented. "Warlocks usually have trouble with fire spells. Their Element is air, while witches command earth, water, and fire. That's why witches are so much stronger than their brothers."

"What's an air spell?" Justin was still staring into the bowl, watching the paper burn.

"Oh, anything that moves through air and space," said Gillian. "Blowing people's hats off their heads. Opening locks. Nicky likes to zap street lights on and off. In the Old Days very powerful warlocks were said to be able to fly through the air, but I think it's an old wives' tale. I don't know anyone who has that kind of Power these days."

"With airplanes you don't really need it," Justin smirked. "You can just buy a ticket!"

"Don't be impertinent," said Gillian. "Memorize your spells one at a time. Go through the Book page by page." She touched the old Book of Shadows lying on the coffee table with her carefully manicured hand. "But never skip ahead. You aren't ready to replicate a spell until you've mastered all the ones before it."

"What happens if you try a spell you aren't ready for?" Justin itched to turn the heavy parchment pages of the old book and see what was there.

"You could hurt yourself -- badly," Gillian warned. "Witches attempting spells beyond their Power have killed their subjects -- or themselves. You must take things slowly. However, at the rate you're going, I think you'll make fine progress. By the end of the year, you should be far ahead of both Nicky and Queenie."

"Really?" Justin was pleased. He'd always been proud of his ability to study and learn new things. "When will I be able to cast a... a love spell?"

Gillian frowned. "A very long time indeed -- if ever! Such spells are nothing but trouble, Justin. They have consequences you can never anticipate. And they are extremely hard to break. Eventually I'll teach you how to Infatuate -- Nicky uses that spell a lot in his love life. But you'll need to master the basics first. Confusing. Summoning. Conjuring. Transforming. All of those come before you can even begin to think about a Binding spell."

"What's the difference between Infatuating and Binding?" Justin asked.

"Infatuation is short term," Gillian explained. "If you want to sleep with someone, then you Infatuate them. It's a spell of the eyes and perception. It works quite well, but by the next morning it's worn off. Which is a good thing, considering most of the people who seem charming at night but prove to be less than appealing in the cold light of day."

Justin nodded. "I see. And what about Binding?"

"Binding is serious business," said Gillian, her face reflective. "It's a permanent spell. It Binds the person to you Forever and a Day."

"Forever and a Day? How long is that exactly?" Justin's eyes were wide.

"A very long time," said Gillian. "In the Old Days Binding was used only between witches who had pledged themselves to each other."

"Like marriage?" Justin thought that witches didn't believe in marriage.

"Marriage is an outsider invention," Gillian sniffed. "Binding is much more profound. It isn't simply a joining of bodies in hot blood, it's a mingling of Power. Sharing your magic with that of your partner. It's a step that is never taken lightly. And it's a misnomer to call it a 'love' spell -- witches don't feel love, at least not in the mundane way outsiders understand it."

Justin felt a prickling on the back of his neck. "But what happens if you use it on someone who isn't a witch?"

Pyewacket padded across the white rug and climbed into Gillian's lap. "It's a dangerous spell to use with mortals because it's so unpredictable. You never know how the mortal will react. And it can recoil badly on the witch who casts it. Besides, you need great Power and great control. You also need a familiar to channel that Power." She stroked the cat's soft fur.

"Will I get a familiar?" Justin knew that Gillian had the cat, but all the witches he'd met so far -- Queenie, Nicky, Ethan, Ignatius, Zoe and Waldo and the others at the Zodiac Club -- didn't have one, at least as far as he knew.

"I don't know," said Gillian. "You don't 'get' a familiar, Justin. They come to you. But only if you're ready, not before. For most witches and almost all warlocks, that day never comes."

"Oh." Justin considered that information.

"Always remember the Rule of Threefold Return," said Gillian. "Any spell you cast, for good or ill, will return to you threefold. A curse will be returned with three more curses on you and yours. A lucky blessing will be returned to you with three times the luck. A gift given will find its way back to you in three different forms. That's the Rule we live by, Justin."

"I'll remember," he said. "Tomorrow I have a meeting with Shimerov, that artist who conducts the life classes. I need more drawings for my portfolio. I've already done Queenie and Nicky and even Pye. Could I make a sketch of you, Gillian? It won't take long."

"I thought you said you needed nudes to show him," said Gillian in amusement. "Did Queenie pose in the all-together?"

"No!" Justin was horrified at the thought. "I did a head study of Queenie. And I'd just like to draw your profile. I figure that if Shimerov looks at my sketches and thinks I'm talented, he'll let me into the class anyway. Then I'll have all the nude models I need."

"I'm sure Ethan would pose for you if you asked him," Gillian teased.

Justin grimaced. "I know he would, but I'd feel funny drawing him like that. I know he likes me, but I don't feel the same way about him. He's okay as a friend... but that's all it is."

Gillian reclined on the rug, turning her head so Justin could see her lovely profile. "It's just as well. Ethan is a perfectly nice boy, but you aren't ready to share hot blood with him -- or anyone. Not yet. Do you understand me, Justin?"

"Yes, I understand." Justin reached for his pad and opened it to a blank page.

Gillian had explained about his Initiation and stressed how serious a ritual it was. That she was conferring with the Elders about the best person for Justin to share hot blood the first time. That a successful Initiation would be critical for Justin's development as a warlock. His future depended upon it.

But Justin couldn't help but wish it could be different. He found himself lying in his bed at night, dreaming of the man he wished he could share hot blood with. Found himself doodling that face on the margins of his sketchpad. Dreaming about that long, lean body. Dreaming that those muscular arms were around him. Dreaming that hot, full mouth was hard against his...

"I thought you were going to draw me?" Gillian yawned. It was getting late.

"Oh, sorry," said Justin, putting pencil to paper. "I was thinking of something else."

Something else.

The something else called Brian Kinney.


	17. Chapter 17

  
Author's notes: Justin needs a favor.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

"Can I ask you something?" Justin said to Daphne.

It was quiet in the Liberty Cafe on a Tuesday afternoon in early February and Daphne had just brought fresh bagels from the bakery.

"If you want a bagel, try this one. It has blueberries in it. Vic is trying something different." She handed Justin a warm bagel.

"Sure!" said Justin. He was always hungry and Vic's experiments found a willing taste-tester in the cafe's new waiter. "Um -- that's really good!"

"I know," Daphne grinned. She and Justin were getting to be good friends. Since Daphne had dropped out of school, she didn't have a lot of contact with kids her own age and she missed that. She and Justin had an easy understanding -- he listened to her boyfriend complaints and she listened to his moans over his crush on Brian Kinney, the hunky actor who hung out in the cafe. "So, what do you want to ask me?"

"This is a little awkward, but would you pose for me?" said Justin. "I'm taking that life class with Professor Shimerov, but I'm having a lot of trouble. I don't have as much experience at figure drawing as the rest of the group and I'm really feeling the pressure."

"And?" Daphne cocked her head questioningly.

"You said your mom used to be an artist's model."

"She was," Daphne confirmed. "But that was a long time ago." Daphne's mother, Loreesa, had been one of the most striking models in the Village, but she'd stopped modeling after Daphne was born, and had since worked in a health food store, the Salad Bowl. Daphne and her mother and grandmother, who was a cook for a family on Gramercy Park, lived in a small apartment on the other side of Broadway near the Lower East Side, an area that some people were starting to call the East Village. "You want her to pose for you?"

"No," said Justin. Daphne's mother was a nice lady, but he didn't want to draw someone's naked mom, especially not his friend's naked mom! "I want you to pose for me. Nude."

That surprised Daphne. She'd had a lot of interesting offers from men in her young life -- and she'd taken up a number of them -- but this was the last thing she expected from Justin, who she knew was gay. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Justin nodded. "I thought about asking Ethan, but you know how he is -- he'd think it was an excuse for me to see him naked."

"Ew!" Daphne made a face. "Don't put that image in my head!" Daph thought Ethan Gold was not only full of himself, but also not very attractive. He fancied himself a hipster and an intellectual, but he mainly came across as a pretentious jerk. And he needed to wash his hair more than once a month!

"That's why I don't want to ask him," Justin sighed. "But I thought... maybe you would... you know?"

"I guess I could." But Daphne was hesitant. "I'm not sure my mom will like the idea. She's always warning me about deadbeat artists and their evil ways!" Although it was never spoken of, Daphne was certain that her missing father was one of those deadbeat artists. "And my grandmother would have a fit! She thinks I'm too young to be... well, doing some of the things Siggy and I are doing." Daphne was seeing an NYU student from a very conservative Jewish family in Brooklyn. They had to sneak around, meeting in basement coffeehouses and dark corners of the Village where no one would see them and get word back to his parents. Both lovers knew that the Grossmans would disown Siggy if they found out he was dating a colored girl. "And I don't think Siggy would like it either. He's kind of jealous."

"You don't have to tell them!" Justin implored her. "I wouldn't show the drawings to anyone but Professor Shimerov. I promise!"

"I'll have to think about it," said Daphne. "You know how the Village is -- nothing is a secret. If anyone in your class saw the drawings, then everybody would know about them the next day!"

"Okay, but please consider it."

Justin took the bagels into the kitchen. Debbie was putting the finishing touches on some large pans of lasagna, which was the special for dinner. He briefly considered asking Debbie to pose for him -- he knew she would say yes in a heartbeat -- but that would be worse than asking Daphne's mom. At least he didn't have to work with Loreesa Chanders every day!

"Down in the dumps, Sunshine?" Deb eased a heavy pan into the oven.

"A little. My art class isn't going as well as I'd hoped."

"Buck up. You're only getting started. I think you have talent," she said.

"You really think so?" Justin brightened.

"Sure! Of course what I know about art could be crammed into a gnat's navel with room left over for a Mack truck, but I know a good picture when I see one. That drawing you did of the front of the cafe? It's aces! "

"Gee, thanks." Justin smiled. At least he had one fan.

The bell over the front door rang. "Customer, Sunshine." She gave the boy a shove.

Justin went out into the cafe and saw Brian Kinney taking off his long camelhair coat. That was new. The battered leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. And he was also wearing a new blue suit and an expensive-looking silk tie. Justin knew Brian was in rehearsals for a Broadway play. He was only the understudy, but according to Michael, who was his best friend, it was likely he'd get a number of chances to go on for the star, Brent Pearson, during the run of the play. This was a great step forward in his career -- and it was obvious that Brian was dressing to match his new success.

"Espresso?" Justin asked. That's what Brian always ordered.

"Yeah. Thanks." Brian sat down at the table. He almost never came into the cafe alone, leaving Justin to wonder where his girlfriend was. "And one of those lemon pastries."

Justin grinned. "Sure. One espresso and one lemon square, coming up!"

Justin watched Brian out of the corner of his eye as he read The New York Times. They'd only had a few brief conversations, but Justin still felt he knew a lot about the tall actor. Brian liked espresso and lemon squares and Italian food. He read The New York Times and The New Yorker magazine. He studied with Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio. He was from somewhere in Pennsylvania. He and Debbie's son Michael had met the first week Brian was in New York, but they were vague about where. Justin thought that meant they'd met at one of the gay bars, either in the Village or up on the East Side, that were an open secret in the city.

Everyone knew Michael was gay, but Brian Kinney's sexuality was still questionable. He had a reputation as a womanizer and Lindsay was only the latest in a string of girlfriends who were always blonde and always beautiful. But Emmett told Justin it was well known that Brian had hustled in his early days in New York, something a lot of hungry, handsome actors did to keep the wolf from the door. And that he'd been the kept boy of a famous theatrical producer who had also paid for acting lessons and gotten Brian his first professional jobs. That, too, was an old story. The rumor was that James Dean had done the same thing when he'd been starting out. And Cary Grant. And any number of famous stars. The casting couch wasn't only for pretty young actresses -- aspiring actors often had to deal with it as well. And considering the number of gay men in positions of power in show business... well, it was probably more common than anyone realized.

But did that mean Brian was truly gay? Justin wasn't certain. And what about Lindsay? He'd only caught glimpses of the girl since witnessing the scene in the alley and he wondered what had happened. Had she gone through with it and gotten rid of Brian's baby? Justin shuddered. What a terrible decision to have to make! Justin was glad he was male and would never have to face such a choice.

He looked at Brian for some kind of clue, but he didn't exactly know what he was looking for. Most of the men he recognized as gay -- he'd learned to use that word from Emmett, who informed him that 'queer' was passé, and that 'fairy,' 'pansy,' and 'fag' were the gravest of insults, unless they issued from a self-proclaimed fag -- were easy to identify by their clothes and their demeanor. Elaborately tied scarves, extra-tight pants, certain brands of two-toned shoes, a cigarette held just so -- those were the signals of a queen that no one could miss. But other gay men were harder to spot.

"Just because Miss Kinney is a butch piece of business doesn't mean he won't get down on his knees just like the rest of us girls," Emmett said one afternoon when he stopped by the cafe on his day off. Justin had already confided to Em that he found Brian attractive, but he hadn't told him about the incident in the alley between Brian and his girlfriend. "Brian was a regular on the Bird Circuit when he first came to town and he's still seen there, lurking in the corner, on a quiet weeknight."

"What's the Bird Circuit?" Justin asked, fascinated.

"A couple of bars up in the East Fifties -- the Blue Parrot, the Swan, the Golden Pheasant," Em explained. "Full of elegant gentlemen with lots of money and the boys who love them! If you can't get laid on the Bird Circuit, honey, you aren't trying! Even Miss J. Edgar Hoover could find a trick up there!"

"J. Edgar Hoover?" Justin marveled, picturing the bulldog-like F.B.I. director. "You're kidding, right?"

"Oh, Mary, please! A nasty closet case if there ever was one! Anyway," Emmett continued. "A friend of mine swears he saw Brian only last week in the Oak Room with his old 'mentor' -- Mr. R.J. Rosenblum, if you please! That old queen is infamous for trying out all the boys before he casts his plays, but he's always had it bad for Miss Kinney."

"Where's the Oak Room?"

"You are green, aren't you?" Emmett commented. "It's in the Plaza Hotel across from Central Park. Very chi-chi. If you aren't wearing a diamond stickpin and a Cartier watch they won't let you in! The rich bitches take their boyfriends there for cocktails. The straight men take their mistresses to the Russian Tea Room, but the Oak Room is all ours! Not that I've ever been, of course, because I can't afford it, but I've heard stories. And it's handy to the Ramble."

Justin hated to show his ignorance, but he had to ask. "The Ramble?"

"In Central Park, honey! A little bit of heavenly wilderness in the middle of the city! At night there's more fucking and sucking going on in that park than on a battleship that's been at sea for 6 months! And I know that for certain," Em confirmed. "No cover charge is required in the Ramble!"

"Oh." Justin felt so ignorant whenever he was around Emmett.

Justin was bringing Brian a second espresso when Daphne poked her head through the bakery door. "I've been thinking about it, Justin, and I wouldn't feel comfortable posing for you. I hate to say no, but I have to."

"That's fine, Daph," he told her. "I'll ask someone else. Or I'll go to the Models' Guild and hire someone."

"That can be expensive," she said. "Do you have the money?"

"Not that much," Justin admitted. "I'll have to ask Queenie if I can borrow some from her."

"Sorry again." And Daphne went back to the bakery.

"What's the trouble, Sunshine?" Brian asked with a slight smile. He'd heard Deb call the young waiter by that nickname and thought it was amusing. The kid was like pure sunshine -- sweet and also unbelievably naive. But something about him appealed to Brian's increasingly jaded senses -- that freshness, that eagerness.

"I need a model for my life class, but Daphne doesn't feel right doing it," said Justin, his heart thumping. Wow! Brian had actually initiated a conversation with him that wasn't about either coffee or pastry!

"Doesn't sound like a difficult request," said Brian.

"It's... er... nude modeling." Justin was unable to blush, but he certainly felt a discomfort that verged on embarrassment talking about this with the man he had a crush on.

"Nude modeling, huh?" Brian mused. He looked the boy up and down, appraisingly. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Soft, translucent skin. "Does it have to be a female?"

"No," said Justin. "It can be anyone. But it has to be a life study. So that means, you know -- naked."

"Yes, I got that part," said Brian. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 5:00. Rehearsal had finished early today and he wasn't due to meet R.J. until 10:00. He had a few hours to kill. "Nude modeling for your class. Well, what about me?"

Justin's mouth dropped open. "You?"

"Why not?" said Brian. "Do I have to get into some strange position or pose with an armadillo or something like that?"

"N...no," said the stunned Justin. "All you have to do is sit. Or stand. Whatever you want to do."

"All right then," said Brian. He stood up and put on his beautiful new camelhair coat. He wasn't all that thrilled about getting mixed up with R.J. again, but it did have its perks. "Tell Deb you're taking off early and we'll blow this pop stand, okay?"

He knew this might be trouble, but all Justin could think about was that Brian Kinney wanted to pose for him. Brian Kinney with his dark green eyes and the way they looked right into him, invading his very core, filling up his head until he couldn't think of anything else. And he knew he couldn't say no.

Justin held his breath. "Yes!" he said. "Let's go!"


	18. Chapter 18

  
Author's notes: Brian poses.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

The winter wind was blowing furiously, so Justin put on his coat and wrapped his scarf securely around his head before he followed Brian out the door of the cafe.

"Christ! It's cold!" Brian exclaimed.

"I'm used to it," said Justin. "It gets pretty cold up in Connecticut."

"Is that where you're from?" said Brian. "Well, the Pitts gets cold, too. But I never get used to it."

"The Pitts?"

"Glorious Pittsburgh!" Brian laughed. "The Paris of the Allegheny! My old man worked in the steelmills. That's what I remember most about the place -- the cold and the stink of those mills. The minute I could get out of there, I hiked it. Bused it, to be precise, straight to New York City. But one of these days I'm going to live somewhere warm. Like Los Angeles."

"Hollywood?" Justin grinned.

"Hollywood," Brian confirmed. "But not before I make my name on the stage. I don't want to be one of those bum television stars who thinks he's an actor."

"You mean like Brent Pearson?"

Brent Pearson, the star Brian was understudying, had been a second-tier movie star who became a bigger name playing a detective on a popular TV series, 'Sunset Beat.'

"Yeah, like Brent Pearson," Brian shrugged. "But at least he's trying to go legit by doing this play. He's not a bad guy, really. But he caught a few lucky breaks, too. It didn't hurt that he married Jacquie Newsome when his movie career was on the skids. That gave him a lot of press. And then he got that series."

"Have you seen Jacquie Newsome? Is she in the city with him?" Justin was curious about the blonde sexpot who wasn't a very good actress, but who could certainly fill out a tight sweater.

Brian shook his head. "She's back in California. I think she's making a picture with Jack Lemmon."

"Oh," said Justin. "I've never seen a real movie star up close."

"I've acted with a couple of them," said Brian. "They're pretty much like anyone else -- except richer, more arrogant, and a lot more demanding."

"Is that the way you'll be when you're a big star? Rich, arrogant, and demanding?" Justin commented slyly.

Brian glanced at the kid. His face was all innocence, but he was a little shit at heart. Brian liked that about him. "Of course. But especially the demanding part. That's how they know you're a star -- by how big a pain in the ass you are. But some people would say I'm that way already."

As they walked along Justin realized that they were headed away from Bedford Street, where Brian lived in a fifth floor walk-up. Justin had gotten the address from Michael and passed by the building more times than he liked to admit. But now they were going into the subway.

"Brian, where are we going? I thought you lived in the Village?"

"I do," he said, paying his fare and Justin's as well. "But there's no heat in my place. If I have to take off my clothes, I don't want to freeze my nuts off. We're going to a friend's apartment. It's up in the Theater District."

They rode the subway uptown and got off at Times Square. It was the first time Justin had been to this famous spot and he couldn't stop gaping at the lights, the traffic, and the people. "Look at that! And over there! It's just like in the movies!"

"Be careful!" Brian warned. "Don't get run over!"

"Sorry!" Justin fell back against Brian as a taxicab whizzed by. "But this is too cool!"

"My theater is down that street," said Brian as they walked up Broadway. "The Martin Beck. Many classics played there. Katharine Cornell and the Lunts. 'The Crucible.' The Theatre Guild used it for their productions back in the Thirties. Nice stage. It's got a good feel."

Justin was impressed as Brian pointed out different playhouses and talked about their histories, what had run there in the past, and what was playing there now. He knew so much about New York theater, Justin could tell it really was his passion.

They turned down West 47th Street. The streets were darker and the buildings a little shabbier than closer to Broadway, but it was still nicer than Brian's crumbling walk-up.

"This is Hell's Kitchen," said Brian. "It sounds worse than it is now, but this was the most dangerous slum in the city back in the day. Mostly Irish, of course, so I feel right at home here!"

The building they entered was nondescript, but Brian's friend's flat was surprisingly elegant. Justin, born and bred amid WASP privilege, recognized good, well-made furniture and expensive appointments, from the Oriental carpet in the living room, to the porcelain knick-knacks and first edition volumes on the shelves, to the original art -- mostly recent Abstract Expressionist pieces -- on the walls. It didn't look like the kind of place a struggling actor could afford, so Justin speculated on exactly whose flat it really was. He thought about the wealthy producer Emmett had mentioned and wondered where he was tonight.

Brian tossed his coat on a chair and immediately poured himself a double Scotch. "Make yourself comfortable. You want something to drink?"

Justin hesitated. He knew that asking for a Pepsi was the wrong answer. He'd tried a Martini once and spit it out. And a beer sounded too college boy. "I'll have whatever you're having."

Brian poured Justin a glass of Scotch, but much smaller than his own. "Slainté!" he said, clicking his glass against Justin's.

"What's that mean?"

"Cheers. Good luck." Brian lifted an eyebrow. "Bottoms up."

"Right," said Justin. "Bottoms up!" He took a gulp of the Scotch and started to cough it back up. "Oops!"

"Watch it, kid." Brian said, slapping him on the back. "Take it easy." He took the glass away and set it on the coffee table. "So -- where do you want me?"

Justin stared. "Where do I... what?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Where do you want me to pose? What about on this sofa?"

"Oh. Sure," Justin replied. "The sofa. That would be great. Let me get my pad."

He rummaged around in his schoolbag for the sketchpad and pencils. He was so nervous his hands were shaking! How was he going to be able to hold the damn pencil? He wanted a good figure study, but how would he manage that? Just being in the same room with Brian Kinney was undoing him!

Justin pulled out the pad and turned around.

Brian was standing there, completely naked. His blue suit was folded on the chair, on top of his coat, and his tee shirt, jockey shorts, and socks were in a tangle on the floor.

"You want me to lie down? Or sit?"

"What... whatever is good for you." Remember how to breathe, thought Justin. Breathe. Now.

"Why don't I lie down?" He sprawled on the sofa. It was a rich brown leather and Brian's golden skin glowed like a new coin against it.

"That's good." Justin tried not to stare at Brian's cock, but it was difficult. He'd seen guys naked before -- his father after swimming at the beach, boys in the locker room, his roommate changing his clothes -- but he'd never been so close to a nude man he desired. He felt his own dick begin to stir in his baggy flannel trousers.

And Brian was so carelessly naked. He didn't seem the least bit shy or ill at ease at being revealed in front of a virtual stranger. Maybe it was because he was an actor. Ethan said actors were narcissists who reveled in being looked at, who lived to be admired, worshipped.

Brian propped himself up on one elbow, turning his body towards Justin. Then he reached down and casually scratched his balls.

And poor Justin, who had never been so aware of being a complete and utter virgin, almost came in his pants.


	19. Chapter 19

  
Author's notes: Justin draws.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

"Are you drawing me full length?"

"Huh?" Justin was still attempting to control his pencil.

Brian smiled at the kid's discomfort. It was so obvious that he had little experience with sex. That amazed Brian, who'd been fooling around with guys ever since he got his first boner. "I said, are you going to draw all of me, or just my upper torso?"

"I'm n...not sure," Justin stuttered.

"Let me know if you want me to change position." Brian shifted his hips. "Damn! I think my foot is falling asleep."

"It's okay. You can move it," said Justin. "I'm just doing a quick sketch to get your general form. Then I can focus on... um... specific parts."

"Oh." Brian smirked. "What specific parts were you thinking of focusing on?"

Justin gulped. "I... I like your hands. You have long, beautiful fingers. And I like the way the veins lay -- like a Renaissance statue. Like David."

Brian regarded the kid with surprise. "Really? I've had a lot of comments about my body over the years, but no one ever said anything about my hands." He held up his right hand and considered it. "Not bad."

Justin's own hand now moved swiftly over the pad and Brian's image was coming into shape. Once he began drawing in earnest he stopped thinking about Brian being in front of him, totally naked, and started to see him as a subject. The object of his art. And his hands were no longer trembling.

"Hey, Picasso, can I take five?" Brian asked after about 20 minutes.

"Oh, sure," Justin laid down his pad. "Sorry about that. Once I start drawing I get caught up in what I'm doing."

"That's the way it should be." Brian sat up on the sofa and picked up his Scotch. "Let's see that."

"It's just a few rough sketches." Justin showed him the pages.

"That's really good," said Brian. "I mean it. I wish I had a talent like that."

"You do," Justin replied. "Your acting. It must be a lot like drawing a picture or painting -- you lose yourself inside whatever you're doing until it takes over."

Brian looked at the drawings thoughtfully and then handed the pad back to Justin. "When I'm deep inside a character I don't let anything distract me. That's what the Method is all about. You immerse yourself in the role. You become that person. That's what I love about acting -- you become another person and don't have to be yourself."

Justin frowned. "What's wrong with being yourself?"

Brian picked up his Scotch and swirled the amber liquid in the glass. He needed a refill. "What's right with it? Growing up knowing that nothing you ever do is good enough. That you're not good enough. That you're a... well, that you're something people revile. Acting is an escape." Brian opened his arms wide. "I can be anything I want to be! Anything I can imagine. A soldier, a coward, a king, a poet... anything!" He got up and walked to the bar, pouring himself another double. "Anything but what I am."

"But you're a great actor," said Justin, setting down his pad and going over to Brian.

"Great actor, huh? So says a guy who's never seen me act," said Brian.

"But everyone says so!" Justin insisted. "Michael, Debbie, even Jack Kerouac's girlfriend!"

"Of course!" Brian laughed. "I'd never want to counter the critical acumen of Jack Kerouac's girlfriend."

Justin shook his head. "You wouldn't have gotten this new role if you weren't good."

"I'm the understudy to a second-rate has-been in a third-rate comedy." Brian bolted down his Scotch.

"You're a... a beautiful man," said Justin. He was suddenly aware that he was standing very close to Brian -- and that Brian was naked. He could feel the sexual heat radiating from the man like a furnace.

"You think?" Brian said in a low, husky voice. He put his empty glass down on the bar. Then he took Justin's cool hand and placed the palm against his smooth chest. "You're an artist. What do you think of the male body? Is it only something to draw? Or is there more to it?"

"I... I don't know."

"Have you ever touched another man... like this?" Brian asked. "Ever kissed another man?"

"No," Justin whispered.

"Ever dreamed of it?" Brian moved closer.

Justin swallowed hard. "Yes. Always."

And then he was in Brian's arms, his tall body against him. Brian was kissing him, his tongue in Justin's mouth, probing. Brian's hands, with their long, beautiful fingers, were moving over his back, then down to cup his ass. Then those same hands were pulling at Justin's fly. Justin's own hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, popping one.

"Wait," said Brian. "Let me do that. You'll ruin your shirt."

"I don't care," Justin answered.

"We have plenty of time." Brian's mouth was at his ear.

But something suddenly brought Justin to his senses. He heard Gillian's voice in his head warning him. Telling him about his Initiation. How it would be the most important part of his training as a warlock. That everything else would depend on his Initiation being done correctly.

"I can't!" Justin cried, pushing Brian away.

"Sure you can," Brian purred. "It's not bad, kid. I know people say it's a crime or a sin, but that's bullshit. It's fucking incredible! You'll feel alive for the first time in your life, I guarantee it. Have you ever made out with anyone? A girl, maybe?"

"No," Justin tried to back away, but Brian was right there, gazing at him. Those dark green eyes, reaching inside him. "No one. Never. And I've never wanted a girl. Never wanted anyone the way..." He almost said "the why I want you," but it wasn't necessary. No, it was obvious he wanted Brian. His entire body, but especially his dick, was betraying that desire, that overwhelming need.

Brian's hand grasped Justin's erect penis and a charge went through both of them. Then Brian guided it close, so that his long, lean cock and Justin's thick, blunt one touched. Both were rigid and eager and hot.

"I want to fuck you, kid. Fuck you so hard you'll never forget it. And when I fuck a guy, he stays fucked -- forever."

"Please!" Justin meant to say, "Please stop!" but instead what came out of his mouth was, "Please fuck me! Yes! I want it now!"

The next thing Justin knew they were in the bedroom. Then on the bed. Then he was on his back, with his legs in the air. The position shocked him. He hadn't thought much about gay sex, but this wasn't what he had imagined.

"Take a deep breath, kid," said Brian. "This might hurt, but it's worth it because the pleasure that comes afterwards is worth any pain."

"Yes," Justin nodded. "I don't care if it hurts. I want you!"

"Slowly," said Brian. He reached for a small jar on the bedstand. "I'll take it slowly."

Justin felt Brian's fingers at his ass. There was something slick on those fingers, moving inside him. Deeper. Justin closed his eyes. It felt so odd. Not bad, but strange. Then there was something larger. Very large. Moving. Then it was inside him. Sliding deep. Deeper.

"Oh!" Justin cried. No! he thought. Wait! But he cried out again, "Yes!"

Brian pushed his cock in all the way, up to the hilt. Their bodies were connected, their skin hot, face against face.

"Kiss me!" Brian demanded. "Kiss me now, kid!"

"Say my name," Justin demanded. "Say it!"

"Justin!" Brian moaned. "Oh, fuck!"

"Brian!" Justin's mouth was against Brian's. His lover's mouth. Wet. Firm.

That kiss. That cock inside that ass. Those bodies joined together. Something boiling inside. Something...

A blue light enveloped them, body and mind and soul. The room was flooded with a strange Power. They both could feel it. And there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Nothing.

And it was everything.


	20. Chapter 20

  
Author's notes: Afterwards.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

Brian had never felt like this after sex before. It was as if he were in a trance, suspended somewhere in space. But it wasn't an unpleasant sensation, not at all. He felt warm and safe, shielded from the world.

He turned over and put his arms around Justin, his lips against his soft skin.

"Again?" Justin murmured.

"You're killing me, kid!" Brian groaned. But he was happy to oblige. More than happy -- ecstatic.

After they both came once again, Justin tried to sit up. "Brian, I'm dizzy. Am I supposed to feel dizzy?"

"All the blood must have run from your head to your dick." Brian yawned. "I have to piss like a racehorse!" He swung his legs off the bed and stood up slowly, wobbling. "I know I didn't have that much to drink. What's the matter with me?"

"Head, blood, dick," Justin said from under the bedclothes.

"Shut up, brat." Brian stumbled to the bathroom, pissed, and then washed his hands and splashed cold water in his face. He peered at himself in the mirror. Something was different, but he didn't know what. Something. He checked his neck for marks. Nothing. He tried to smooth down his hair, but it wouldn't behave. Screw it, he thought.

"You want to go out and get some food?" said Brian. "Actually, there's this Chinese place around the comer that will deliver an entire meal right to the apartment, fortune cookies and all. What do you think?"

"That sounds neat," said Justin, coming up for air. "Do they give you chopsticks?"

"Of course," said Brian. "It's the real deal."

"What time is it, anyway?" asked Justin.

Brian squinted at the clock across the room. "Wait -- that can't be right. It can't be 9:25!"

"What?" said Justin. "Are you sure?"

"Let me check my watch." Brian picked up his watch from the bedstand and stared at it. "Holy shit! It's almost 9:30!"

"But... that's impossible!" Justin exclaimed. "Where did the time go?"

"The time," Brian repeated. "Fuck! You have to get out of here!"

"What's the matter?"

"The guy whose apartment this is -- he's coming home at 10:00." Brian went to the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans. "Get dressed! Now!"

"Can I get cleaned up first?" Justin sniffed himself. "I kind of stink. And I'm a little... sticky."

"There's no time for a shower," said Brian. "Get in there and hurry up."

Justin scrambled off the bed and Brian hastily tried to put it back together. R.J.'s maid came in every morning to make the bed and clean the place up. Brian tugged and smoothed the bed, but no matter how hard Brian tried to arrange the sheets and the spread, it looked not only slept in, but fucked in.

"Goddamn it!"

"It looks okay," said Justin, coming out of the bathroom. He was rubbing Listerine over his teeth with his finger. "What's the rush?"

"I'm not supposed to have 'visitors' -- that's what!" Brian pulled a sweater over his head. "Get moving! I need to hang up my suit. I completely forgot about it."

Brian grabbed his blue suit and shook it out, placing it on a wooden hanger. It would need to be pressed before he wore it again. He'd have to send it out in the morning.

What the hell had happened? It was bizarre! He was fucking the kid, as usual. But then... then nothing was the way it usually was. It felt like more than just sex. He couldn't explain it. He didn't have the words to explain it. There was a buzzing in his head. Then it was like his body was filled with electricity and the two of them were alight. Yes, that was it -- that weird blue light. Then they were suspended in the air, floating. And they hadn't even smoked any reefer! Damn it! What was in the Scotch? Some kind of Celtic hocus pocus!

"Brian -- I'm ready," said Justin, coming out of the bedroom. His tousled blond hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes.

"Justin." Brian blinked. Then he grabbed the kid and held him. Kissed him again. He was hard. And Justin was hard. Brian felt that buzzing in his head again. And everything was burning blue. "Wait," said Brian. "This is ridiculous. You have to go."

"Do I?" Justin's eyes were pleading.

"Yes! Isn't your cousin going to wonder where you are?"

That stopped Justin cold. "My cousin. Gillian. Oh, no!"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Justin put on his coat. "You're right. I better go." He walked to the door. "Will I ever... see you again?"

"Probably!" Brian laughed. "Since I'm always in the cafe."

"You know what I mean." Justin's face was somber.

"Yes," said Brian. That surprised him. He wasn't sure where those words came from. He almost never fucked a trick more than once. It made things too complicated. Sometimes they came back and tried to see him again, but he always sent them away. He didn't need that kind of clingy bullshit. And fucking guys -- it was always a danger. Always. One day you might pick up a psycho, or -- even worse -- a cop. That's why he stayed away from the Park and the Piers. That was a sure way of ending up on the Police Blotter with a vice charge and then -- Goodbye, Acting Career!

But he'd said yes. Why the hell did he say yes to this kid?

"How do I get back to the Village?" Justin asked tentatively. It was dark and the neighborhood wasn't the greatest in town.

"The same way we came. Take the subway downtown from Times Square and get off at Christopher Street," said Brian. He adjusted the kid's scarf. It was cold outside. He could see flurries coming down outside the window.

"Thanks," said Justin. "It was... phenomenal."

Brian smiled. "Is your ass sore?"

"Yes. But I don't care. I mean -- I don't give a shit!"

"Good boy," Brian whispered. And he kissed Justin again. He pictured Justin alone on the street. In the dark. He broke the embrace and picked his camelhair coat off the back of the chair. "I need to make sure you get home okay. Come on."

Brian put his coat on in the creaky elevator. "This place is better than my dump, but when I get some real money I'm going to move into one of those new buildings on the East Side, near the U.N. I want a place that's nice and shiny and modern."

"I kind of like the older buildings," said Justin. "They have a lot of character."

"Yeah, until the heat goes out and the elevator stops working. Then tell me all about character!"

They walked up to Broadway and Brian put out his hand, flagging down a taxi. A Yellow Cab pulled to the curb and Brian opened the door. "Take him down to the Village. MacDougal Street. Is that right, kid?"

"Yes, MacDougal Street near Bleecker," said Justin, feeling in his pocket. But he knew it held only a few coins -- his tips from the cafe. "I could take the subway."

"No," Brian insisted. "This way I'll know you're safe."

"I... I don't have enough money for the fare."

"Here." He put a finn in Justin's hand. "Five bucks is more than enough. Give the guy a 50 cent tip and keep the change. For next time."

Justin grinned. "Gee, thanks!" He wanted to kiss Brian goodbye, but he knew that was impossible. It was one thing to make love behind locked doors, but quite another to show affection for another man in public.

Brian touched Justin's golden hair, caressing it for one moment more. "Later," he said.

"Later," Justin replied.

The taxicab pulled away and sped down Broadway. The lights of Times Square seemed especially bright, especially beautiful. The city was bigger and more intense, like Justin was seeing everything for the first time. His senses were spinning and his head was on fire. He felt like he could conquer the world!

If that's what having sex is all about, why didn't I do it before? thought Justin. I don't care what Gillian says! I know -- I just won't tell her! She might want me to be Initiated by some old woman I've never met before, like Ethan was, but that doesn't mean I have to go along with it. I'm 19 years old! I'm a man! I can do anything I want!

"And I want Brian," he said out loud. "I don't care who knows it!"

The cabbie, who had the radio turned to Frank Sinatra crooning about having one last drink for the night, didn't turn around. There were a lot of nuts in New York City. And a lot of fags.

"And I'm going to have him," Justin whispered. "I'll make Brian forget everyone else -- Lindsay and that producer, the one whose apartment that was, and anyone he's ever known. He'll only want me! I'll make certain of it if it takes everything I've got -- and every ounce of my Power!"

Justin sat back in the seat and hugged himself. Yes, that's what I'll do!

The cab was halfway to Greenwich Village before Justin realized that he'd left his schoolbag in the apartment. And left his sketchpad on the coffee table, open to his nude drawing of Brian Kinney.


	21. Chapter 21

February 1958.

After putting Justin in the cab, Brian was in no hurry to go back to the flat and his appointment with R.J. Instead, he walked slowly through Times Square.

He loved walking in the city. There was something about this place that gave him a high better than booze or weed. Maybe not better than sex, but then he'd just had a mind-boggling session of fucking with that kid. Who would have thought? Justin was a virgin -- he was certain of that -- but he'd given as good as he got. A natural.

"Just like I was!" Brian said to himself. "What are the chances?"

As he strode down the sidewalk he felt stronger than he had in ages. Like the superheroes in Mikey's stupid comic books, he could perform wonders! Leap tall buildings! Face down villains! Bullets and freight trains couldn't stop him! Nothing could stop him.

"Top of the world, Ma!" he laughed.

"Want any help celebrating, sugar?" A bleached blonde woman in a ratty raccoon coat was leaning against a doorway. "Gotta light?"

"No thanks," said Brian. "Not tonight."

The woman looked him up and down. "Don't swing that way? Too bad, sugar!"

"Have a good night," said Brian, walking on.

The kid. He couldn't stop thinking about the kid. Justin. He'd be almost home by now.

He shouldn't see him again. He was bad news. Too young. Too eager. Too...

But the taste of his skin...

Yes, he'd licked Justin from stem to stern. Kissed him and touched him in places the kid had never imagined he'd ever be kissed or touched. And he loved it! He'd shown no fear at all. None! That was different. Most guys didn't want to do certain things. Certain intimate things. They were too ashamed. They wanted to keep it in the shadows, in a dark corner that never saw the light of day. Many of them didn't even want to kiss. Fucking another guy was bad enough, but kissing him? That was over the line. That meant you really were a goddamn queer.

But Justin couldn't stop kissing him. And Brian couldn't stop kissing, either. Kissing until his lips felt bruised, like he'd been punched.

Shit. This was bad. Very bad.

It was like an addiction.

Brian had thought having a steady girlfriend would cure him of his desire for every hot guy he saw. But it hadn't. Not by a longshot.

He'd started fooling around with guys when he was very young. A little groping, a little jacking off, kid's stuff. He gave his first blow job when he was 14. That was something else! And he'd never looked back -- coaches, guys on the team, teachers, a young priest at his mother's parish church, men who picked him up hitchhiking, soldiers home on leave, guys lurking in the park, a cop who stopped him and accused him of hustling. That cop had been a great fuck, too! Amazing!

He had a girlfriend in high school. Gloria. She was a 'nice' girl who wouldn't let him fuck her, but who did almost everything else. But there was also an older woman down the street who was very willing to go all the way when her husband was at work. He learned a lot from Sadie. He enjoyed fucking her. But he didn't lose his taste for men. Not at all. If anything, fucking a woman only made him hornier. And when he was horny, he went on the prowl for guys.

But when he left home and headed to New York he thought he'd left men behind. New York meant a new life. He wanted to be an actor and actors were real men. No faggot stuff allowed. There were good-looking women everywhere and they were all easy. Actresses, models, secretaries -- it was like a buffet of female availability! And Brian liked a buffet, especially if it was free.

But... there were men, too. Plenty of men. And they were everywhere. In elevators, in acting class, at auditions, standing on street corners, in the balconies of movie theaters, in Central Park, down by the Piers at the end of Christopher Street, and in the bars.

Brian had never been in a queer bar before he came to New York, but he soon became a regular. He was young, tall, beautiful, and hungry. It wasn't long before he was in great demand for an hour of fun and games at a reasonable price. Why not? All the boys did it, especially the young actors. It was dog-eat-dog in New York. Survival of the fittest. And Brian was as fit as they come.

That's where he met R.J. At the Blue Parrot. It was an old story -- older man with ready cash meets handsome young man looking for the same. It was just a one night trick -- at first. But he kept seeing R.J. around. And R.J. was always generous. Extremely generous. Brian was an actor. R.J. was a theatrical producer. Soon R.J. was introducing Brian to agents and casting directors. He was paying for more lessons. An acting coach. Buying Brian clothes. Taking Brian to swank parties and opening nights. To 21 and Sardi's. Giving him a taste of the good life. A taste of success.

And then the flat on West 47th. Brian was happy to move from the tenement he's been living in on the edge of Harlem to R.J.'s well-feathered love nest. But after a while he began to feel stifled. He was sick of being R.J. Rosenblum's pet project. He wanted to be Brian Kinney, serious actor. He wanted to get jobs on his own terms, by his talent, and not through his connections to R.J.

The last straw was when R.J. wanted him to move in with him full time. Live with him in that drafty old apartment in that haunted castle overlooking the Park, the Dakota. No thanks! Brian packed his shit and left. He had two suitcases full of expensive clothes and $5 in his pocket. That was it. But he'd gotten along.

Brian Kinney would always get along!

"Brian. Where have you been?"

R.J. was already there when he opened the door. It was well past 10:00. In fact, it was almost 11:00.

"Out. I needed some fresh air." Brian took off his new camelhair coat and hung it on the hook by the door. R.J. paid for that coat, but if he had to, he could live without it.

"Who did you bring here?" R.J. asked. It wasn't an accusation. Just a question. A sad, pointed question.

Brian didn't blink. "What do you mean?"

R.J. pointed to the two glasses on the bar and a leather bag on the floor. Justin's schoolbag. In their rush to get out the door, he'd left it behind.

Then R.J. picked something off the coffee table. Justin's sketchpad. R.J. turned the pages. Brian's body. Brian's hands. Brian's cock.

"Who is he?"

"Just a kid," said Brian. "He works in a cafe down in the Village. He needed a model. I volunteered."

"Yes, I can see that," said R.J. "You've very helpful that way. How old is this artist?"

Brian shrugged. R.J.'s third degree was always tiresome. "I don't know. 18 or 19. Around that."

"He's very young. And very talented." R.J.'s fingers brushed the paper gently. "Are you going to see him again?"

There was no use in lying. "Yes."

R.J.'s face crumbled a little. "Don't do this, Brian. Please."

"It's none of your fucking business," said Brian. He walked into the bedroom and began to undress. That almost always shut R.J. up -- seeing Brian naked.

"Why did you bring him here?" asked R.J., following him "To my flat?"

"Why not?" he said. "My place is dark and freezing. I wouldn't bring a rat there, let alone a kid." Brian paused. "A little blond virgin. But not for long. I opened up his ass for the very first time right in that bed."

R.J. winced. "Why are you doing this? You can have any man you want! Why destroy this... this innocent child?"

"He's not a child, R.J.," Brian replied. "He's a man in every way. And I mean that. We fucked for hours. In every position. I sucked his sweet young cock until he screamed. Then I made him suck mine. And I ate his ass until it was raw. Stuck my tongue up his hole and feasted on it like it was a $10 roast beef dinner. Because that's the way I like my sex with men -- hot and dirty and hard." Brian was naked now. He was well aware that Justin's buttery aroma was still on his skin, mingling with Brian's own distinctive musky, spicy odor.

"Brian... don't!" R.J. begged.

"Why don't you kiss me, R.J.?" Brian whispered. "Kiss me now. Taste that kid's sweet ass on my tongue. Then I'm going to make you eat mine. Eat it until I shoot my load."

"Brian..." R.J. whimpered.

"I said kiss me!" Brian ordered.

R.J. moved towards Brian like a sleepwalker. And he kissed him, deeply.

"I bet that tasted good. Now say thank you," said Brian.

"Thank you," R.J. whispered.

"Now get on your knees and suck my cock!"

R.J. slowly went to his knees. Brian's cock was hard and the tip was dripping in anticipation. "You're a bastard," said R.J.

Brian shoved his cock into the man's waiting mouth.

"I know," he said.


	22. Chapter 22

  
Author's notes: Justin goes home.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

When Justin reached home, he found Queenie sitting in the living room of the flat, listening to opera on her old phonograph and reading a trashy romance novel.

"Justin, my dear!" she called out when she saw him. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Um... sure," he said. He slipped off his coat and followed her into the kitchen. Thankfully, she didn't ask him where he'd been, so he didn't have to lie. In fact, she acted as if she wasn't even aware that he'd been out, even though he was brushing melting snow from his blond hair.

Queenie was like that -- not completely there. Half the time she didn't seem to know what time it was, or even what day it was. At first Justin had thought Queenie's scatterbrained ways were annoying, but now he saw them as an advantage. If she didn't know he'd been out, then he hadn't been out. It was a simple as that. Unless...

"Where's Gillian?" Justin asked casually. "I haven't seen her at all tonight."

"Oh, she's out with that Mr. Henderson from downstairs." Queenie put on the kettle and took down a tin box with her favorite herbal blend of mint, camomile, and hibiscus. "He's such a sweet man! She's been seeing quite a lot of him since Christmas."

"I thought Gillian didn't approve of witches mixing with mortals?" Justin opened the icebox and rummaged around, looking for something to eat. He was suddenly very aware that he hadn't eaten since that afternoon.

Queenie shrugged. "You know Gil -- she has one rule for herself and another for everyone else. And she likes Mr. Henderson quite a lot. He also used to be the fiancé of an old college rival of hers and she likes that even more!"

"I thought casting a love spell on an outsider was dangerous?" Justin cut some bread and made himself a sandwich with a hunk of leftover meatloaf he'd brought back from the Liberty Cafe. "She warned me about that specifically."

"She didn't cast a love spell exactly," said Queenie. "It was more an Infatuation. But the more she sees Mr. Henderson, the more she repeats the spell, the stronger it gets. I told her to be careful. It's possible to get caught in an Infatuation and fall in love -- and that would be a disaster!" The kettle began to whistle and Queenie removed it from the gas. She scalded the teapot and then tossed the loose tea in, pouring the boiling water over it and letting it steep.

"I thought witches can't fall in love," said Justin. He gulped down the sandwich, but he was still starving. "That's what everyone says."

"We can't," Queenie conceded. "But there are stories -- very old stories -- of witches who have fallen in love with mortals."

"What happens to them?" Justin asked with growing interest. He thought of Brian with his intense green eyes. Of Brian hovering over him in the bed. Kissing him. Fucking him. His ass ached, but he didn't mind at all. Was that love?

"It's said that they lose their Powers and become mortal," said Queenie, her childish eyes wide. "They blush and cry and do all sorts of silly things that mortals do! I've never seen it happen and I don't know anyone who has, but it would be horrible if it did! Imagine what life would be like? You'd be just like everyone else -- boring and humdrum!" Queenie shuddered. "I've shared hot blood with a number of lovely men in my time, both warlock and mortal, but I certainly never felt the need to fall in love with one! And Gillian -- she's much too sensible to let her little affair with Mr. Henderson get out of hand."

"What about Nicky and that writer he's hanging around with?" Justin went back to the icebox and looked to see what else was in there. "Is he in love with him?"

"Nicky?" Queenie scoffed. She poured two cups of tea and then took the jar of honey out of the cupboard, spooning a thick dollop into her cup and another into Justin's. "Don't be absurd, my dear! Nicky could no more fall in love with someone than he could fly to the moon!"

There wasn't anything else in the icebox. Justin sighed. Queenie wasn't much of a cook. He cut another slice of bread and put it in the toaster drawer of the old gas stove.

"What about two witches?" Justin questioned. "Can they fall in love?"

"Why would they want to?" Queenie replied. "Who wants to copy mere mortals?"

"But what about that thing Gillian told me about? Binding? Is that like love?"

"Oh, no!" said Queenie, sipping her tea. "Binding is... well, it's more serious than love! More serious than hot blood, too, although hot blood is part of it."

Justin frowned. This conversation was fascinating, but it was also making him uneasy. "How serious?"

"Binding is for always," said Queenie. "Two witches become one. Their beings are joined and their Power combined. A Bound couple is very difficult to defeat because even death can't separate them. Once they are Bound, one can never be content without the other. And if one is killed, then the other will follow -- but only after he's taken his revenge. And after death they ride together through the night with the White Company. You can hear their cries in the wind during a storm. At least that's what they say. Isn't that thrilling?"

Justin shivered. "I think it's really creepy!"

"I know," Queenie sighed. "It's romantic, like my novels, but the whole idea gives me the willies! That's why Binding is so serious, my dear. It isn't about love, it's about life and death and Power! Personally, I wouldn't want the responsibility and I don't know many witches who would. I can't think of anyone I'd want to spend eternity with, can you?"

"I guess not." Justin stared into his tea. The warmth of the cup was comforting, but he still felt a prick of anxiety.

What would his cousin do to him when she found out he was no longer a virgin? Would she punish him in some way? Or punish Brian? No matter what happened, he wouldn't tell her who it was! He'd protect Brian. But maybe Gil wouldn't find out. She was so preoccupied with that man downstairs she hadn't been attending to much else.

"Do you think Gillian will be home soon?"

"Oh, no," said Queenie. "With Mr. Henderson she'll be out until all hours. I think I'll go back to my book. It's very good! You can read it when I'm done, if you like."

Justin shook his head. Queenie's taste in romantic literature didn't appeal to him at all. "No thanks, Auntie. I have to work tomorrow. And I want to see Professor Shimerov..." Justin paused. "Damn it! I forgot!"

"What, my dear?" Queenie asked.

"Nothing."

Justin waited until Queenie had gone back to her chair and her phonograph and her book.

His schoolbag. And his sketchpad. He had to get it back from Brian. But he didn't know Brian's number -- if he even had one. And he didn't dare go back to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen for fear that producer might be there.

He'd have to wait for Brian to find him. Well, at least Brian knew where he'd be. That was one thing about working at the cafe -- everyone always knew where to find you.

Justin went into his room and looked out the window onto Bleecker Street. The snow was swirling down hard now, whipped by the February wind.

His ears caught the sound of something strange. He thought he heard cries in that wind. Strange voices calling to each other. And calling out to Justin.

He turned away and pulled down the shade. "I have to stop listening to Queenie's crazy stories," said Justin to himself. "They're making me think weird thoughts and I'll probably have weird dreams, too."

But instead Justin slept deeply, and if he had any dreams, they faded the moment he opened his eyes the next morning.


	23. Chapter 23

  
Author's notes: Brian considers a few things.  


* * *

February 1958.

Brian was waiting outside the building on Hudson Street when Melanie Marcus came home from work.

Mel was a legal secretary at a firm on Madison Avenue, but she was taking night classes in Law at NYU. She was sick of being at the beck and call of the attorneys at her firm. Her dream was to be a lawyer in her own right. Her firm had no women partners, but other firms had a few female associates and she knew she could be one, too, if she was given the chance. There were even a few lady judges in New York these days, mainly in the Family Courts.

But working full-time and going to school left her exhausted. And then there was all the trouble with her roommate, Lindsay...

"Hey! I need to talk to you!" Brian followed her up the stoop to the door.

"Great," said Melanie. "Just what I needed today. What do you want?"

"Why hasn't Lindsay returned my calls?" Brian demanded. "I've left a message for her every day and I haven't heard back."

Melanie leveled her eyes at Brian Kinney. She hated this bastard. He'd ruined Lindsay's life -- and therefore ruined Mel's, too.

"Lindsay isn't here," she said shortly.

"Obviously!" Brian huffed. "Where the hell is she?"

"Philadelphia."

That was Lindsay's home town. Brian had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Why did she go there?"

Melanie glared at him. Ever since Lindsay had told her that she was in trouble Mel knew she'd have to confront Kinney. And she had been looking forward to giving him a piece of her mind. But now that the moment had come, she only felt defeated.

"Why do you think?" she said wearily.

Melanie unlocked the door and was about to step inside, but Brian blocked her way. "Clue me in. In detail."

"She went home to have the baby," Mel stated. There. Now he could go!

Brian flinched. "She told you?"

"Of course she told me, you asshole!" Mel blasted back. "What did you think she'd do?"

"I thought she was going to take care of this... quietly?"

"You think it's so easy, don't you?" said Melanie, shaking her head. "Well, it's not easy. But I don't expect a jerk like you to understand that."

"But... I thought everything was arranged!" said Brian. "I gave her the money and the name of the doctor. My... my friend fixed it for her. Then I never heard back!"

"She didn't go through with it," said Mel. "She couldn't."

Brian frowned. "Why the hell not?"

"Because she wanted this baby!" Melanie said with disgust. "She wanted your baby, specifically. And in about six months she'll have it."

"Jesus," Brian whispered.

"Not that you give a damn," she added. "Because you're a selfish prick who never cared about Lindsay at all. You've never cared about another person except yourself in your entire miserable life. Now I'm going inside, take off my shoes, and have a good, stiff drink. Make that a double. And tomorrow I'm putting an ad in the Village Voice for a new roommate. And after today, if I ever see you again in my whole life -- well, that'll be too soon! Now get the fuck out of here!"

And Mel slammed the door in Brian's face.

Brian wandered around the cold streets of the Village, trying to think.

Lindsay was going through with it. And he'd be a father.

She hadn't called him back. Apparently hadn't planned to tell him what was going on.

He could take the train down to Philly and confront her, but what good would that do? She'd made her decision and wasn't going to change it. He wondered how her parents had reacted. Not well, probably. Would Lindsay really keep the kid? They'd put pressure on her to give it up, but he knew Lindsay never would. She wanted it because she loved him and the baby was a part of him. A part of them.

Love. Fucking love! What was that all about?

Brian didn't really know. His mother was a cold bitch with all the loving feeling of a wolverine. And the old man was a drunk who only loved what he could get out of a bottle of cheap booze. His sister had gotten married to the first creep who came along just to get out of the house, and Brian had followed not long afterwards. And he'd never looked back.

R.J. had told him once that he loved him -- but Brian responded by laughing in his face. The whole idea was ludicrous! Guys could fuck each other, but love was for deluded females -- and chumps! He got what he wanted from R.J. -- and he didn't have to tell him he loved him, just like he got what he wanted from Lindsay without having to tell her lies.

Lies. That's what love was. A pack of fucking lies!

Brian found himself standing outside the Liberty Cafe. It was dinner time and he hadn't eaten all day. Justin was probably inside. Soon Brian would be leaving for New Haven, where the play was trying out, then on to Philadelphia, and then back to New York for the opening.

Philadelphia. Where Lindsay was. Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He went into the cafe.

And the first person he saw was Justin.

The kid grinned at him as he sped by, carrying a tray loaded with cups of espresso. "Brian! Thanks for dropping off my schoolbag! I needed my sketches to show Professor Shimerov."

"It was nothing, kid. Can you get me an espresso, too?" said Brian, sitting at a corner table.

Justin brought him a cup immediately. "Cold out?"

"I guess." Brian had been too preoccupied to feel anything. "Thanks. I really needed this. What's the special tonight?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs. It's good. I had two helpings!"

But Brian realized he wasn't all that hungry. "Why don't you get me one of those lemon squares instead?"

"You should have the dinner," said Justin. "You're too skinny."

"What are you now, my mother?" said Brian. But he smiled. The kid was cute. And he was something else, too. "What did the professor say?"

Justin's grin widened. "He let me into the life class! He said that I had a 'good feel for the human form.'"

"I could have told him that!" Brian cracked. "Busy today?"

"A little," Justin conceded. "They're having a poetry reading here this evening, so Deb's expecting a big crowd. Gregory Corso's going to read and she's hoping Ginsberg and Kerouac will show up. If they do, they might read something, too, so people will be here hoping to see them."

"Corso's a punk," said Brian. "And Kerouac... you really like his stuff, don't you?"

"I love it!" said Justin. "I'd like to travel across the country like that. No ties, just go, go go! That's real freedom!"

"Freedom can be highly overrated," Brian commented. "Are you working all evening?"

"If Deb needs me." Justin raised his eyebrows. "Why do you want to know?"

Brian tugged at his apron, pulling Justin down to eye-level. "You want to come over to my place tonight?"

Justin held his breath. "You mean it? Don't you have rehearsal?"

"We had it this afternoon, so tonight I'm free and clear. My flat's not as nice as my friend's place," said Brian, lowering his voice. "But it's got a bed. And I've got a hard-on for your tight little ass."

"You... you do?"

"You want to feel it?" Brian took Justin's hand and moved it under the table to his crotch, pressing it against his erection. "See that? That's what you're doing to me."

"Yes!" Justin finally began to breathe again. Brian wanted him! Him -- and no one else! "I'll tell Debbie I need to take off early. I'll tell her my cousin needs me at home."

"Good boy," said Brian. "And get some food from Deb's kitchen. There's nothing at my place. I've got a bottle of vino someone gave me. We'll open it and have a regular feast. We'll eat in bed, naked. And you can draw my cock again."

"That'll be great!" Justin's eyes were shining.

Brian watched the kid hurry back to the kitchen. Watched his sweet butt bounce inside his chinos. He could hardly wait to get his dick into that plump, juicy ass. That's what he needed. A good, hard fuck without any strings attached. Without any drama.

Once he got Justin into bed he could forget all his problems. Bury himself in that golden hair. Gorge himself on that creamy skin.

He wouldn't have to answer to Lindsay, or Mel, or R.J., or anyone else! No apologies! And no fucking regrets!

Tonight. In bed.

Then everything would be all right.


	24. Chapter 24

"Oh, gee," said Justin as Brian opened the door of his walk-up on Bedford Street. "This is... um... an interesting place."

"Interesting?" Brian snorted. "A dump. A rathole. A shithouse. All of those apply much more than 'interesting place.' Hopefully, I won't be living here much longer. But until then... welcome to my humble abode."

"It's kind of cold in here," said Justin. "Can you turn on the heat?"

Brian laughed. "It is on, you brat! Now you know why I didn't bring you here for my modeling session!" He hung his coat up next to his old leather jacket and then took his guest's.

"Good thing we're both wearing sweaters," said Justin, rubbing his hands together. "But the food from the cafe is nice and warm. Where should I put it?"

"On the counter." Brian indicated the kitchen. "We'll have to eat right away. If we leave any food sitting out the rats and roaches will be fighting over it the second we leave the room."

"You're joking," Justin laughed. But then his face fell as he glanced around. "Right?"

"I only wish," said Brian. "Now you know why I only come here when it's absolutely necessary."

"Is that a bathtub?" Justin pointed to the large tin tub in the center of the kitchen.

"Unfortunately, yes." Brian gave the old tub a kick. "The latest in 1912 technology. And the toilet is down at the end of the main hallway. I share it with three other flats."

Justin peered inside the tub. It was rusty and a steady drip of brackish water emanated from the faucet. "You don't actually take a bath in here -- do you?"

Brian gave the kid a horrified glance. "Hell no! I go to the YMCA every morning and exercise. Then I take a shower there. Or I go to the baths down on the Lower East Side."

Justin began to unpack the paper bag he'd brought from the cafe. "I guess the Bohemian life isn't as romantic as I thought."

"This isn't about being Bohemian," Brian reflected. "It's about being poor. There are people in this building who've lived here for 30 years because this is all they can afford. For me, it's just a place to stay for the short term. For them, it's their whole fucking life!"

Justin took out cartons of lasagna and salad, rolls, and some lemon squares. Brian grabbed two dishes out of the cupboard and perused them. "These look clean, but I'll rinse them off just in case. Did you bring paper napkins?"

"Yup!" said Justin. "Do you have any silverware?"

Brian pulled open a drawer and took out a handful of battered forks and spoons. "It's not exactly silver, but it'll do. Unless you'd rather eat with your hands?"

"This is fine." Justin dished out the food while Brian went into the tiny living room. A moment later Justin heard music playing. Some kind of smoky jazz arrangement and then a female voice, hoarse and slightly out of tune, but compelling nonetheless. "Is that Billie Holiday?"

"Yes," said Brian from the next room. "This is one of my favorite records."

Justin carried in the plates of food. "I like her. My cousin Nicky says she's the best, but that she's an addict."

"I saw her a couple of years ago at the Village Vanguard, but then she got busted. She can't perform in clubs with a drug charge on her record." Brian was lounging on a sagging sofa, a glass of wine in his hand. "See? I told you I had vino."

"What kind is it?" asked Justin, settling beside him.

Brian considered the glass. "Red."

Justin laughed. "Good enough!"

Brian poured another glass for Justin and they began to eat. Brian's empty stomach churned slightly, but then settled as the food hit it. He was used to being hungry, just as he was also used to the finest cuisine. Feast or famine, that was an actor's life. But now it seemed that his fortune was really about to change for the better.

"Here's to the success of 'Happy Endings' and an understudy named Brian Kinney!" he said, holding up his glass. Justin held his up, too. "May Brent Pearson break his leg the same day the critics from the New York Times, the Herald-Tribune, and the Post are due to review the show!"

"I'll second that!" said Justin. "But does he have to break his leg? Can't he just get a bad cold and lose his voice? That would work just as well."

"You're quite the little humanitarian, aren't you?" Brian remarked. "Okay, kid. A head cold and laryngitis! Slainté"

"Slainté!" Justin took a sip of the wine. It had a sharp, sour taste. "Not bad."

"Don't lie," said Brian, tearing a roll in half and chewing on it. "It's pretty bad. But it was a gift from an admirer. And I never turn down anything free -- especially free booze. Remember that."

"Never turn down anything free," Justin repeated.

"Smart lad." Brian pulled out a pack of Pall Malls and lit one. "You want one?"

"No, thanks. I don't smoke." Justin leaned against Brian, feeling as content as he ever had in his life. "Do you have a lot of them?" he asked,

"A lot of what?"

"Admirers."

Brian took a drag on the Pall Mall. "Enough. It comes with the territory when you're an actor. They wait for you outside the theater. They give you things. Sometimes they follow you around. One actress I worked with in summer stock had a guy who was so persistent she had to go to the cops to keep him away."

"That's sad, Brian," said Justin. "The person must not have much going on in his life to do that."

Brian shrugged. "It takes all kinds. But people are weird. They get obsessed." Brian thought about R.J. He wasn't like the usual Stage-Door Johnny or Autograph Hound, but he was just as obsessed in his own way. And Brian wasn't proud of the way he took advantage of that obsession. "And then there's another kind of admirer."

Justin looked up at Brian. "What kind is that?"

"The kind who doesn't give a damn that you did a scene from 'Romeo and Juliet' at the Actors Studio. Or that you starred in a series of experimental one act plays that got good reviews from 'Theater World.' They only care about how big your cock is. Or what you're willing to do in return for a meal or 10 bucks in cold, hard cash."

Justin took Brian's hand in his. The fingers were long and expressive. He remembered the way they had played his body like a musical instrument, coaxing something beautiful out of it.

"I don't have 10 bucks, Brian," he whispered.

"I know you don't, kid," he replied. "But you don't need $10 to make me pay attention to you."

Justin felt a hot sensation deep inside. Hot blood. They hadn't even kissed, but it was already building within him.

"I'm still hungry," he said, standing up. Justin went into the kitchen and got another helping of lasagna and more rolls. He also brought the lemon squares into the living room. "No sign of your roommates, Brian."

"My roommates?"

"The rats and roaches." Justin sank down on the broken sofa. "I thought they'd be out there eating the leftovers."

"Don't laugh," said Brian. "They're here. They're just waiting for us to get out of the way. One night I heard this strange sound coming from the kitchen. I went in there and saw one of the empty drawers rattling and heard this squawking. I pulled the drawer open and there was a big rat wedged inside."

"That's disgusting!" Justin exclaimed.

"No shit!" Brian agreed, blowing a smoke ring into the air. "The rat wasn't too happy about it, either. I don't know how the hell he got in there, but once the son of a bitch was in, he couldn't get out."

"What did you do, Brian?" Justin set down his half-full plate and pushed it away, glad that Brian hadn't told that story before they ate dinner.

"I hit him with a hammer and tossed him down the ventilation shaft," said Brian. "That's why I never keep food here. Or much of anything else."

Justin looked around the dim room. The sofa was the only real piece of furniture Brian in it. The rest was orange crates and cardboard boxes filled with books, records, and folded piles of clothes. There were no pictures on the wall, only pealing, graying wallpaper.

Brian got up and changed the record, putting on another Billie Holiday. "I used to have more records, but some get lost whenever I move."

"Have you moved around a lot, Brian?" Justin asked.

"You could say that," said Brian. "I've lived all over Manhattan, from the Bronx to the Bowery and everywhere in between. When I first got to town I was living in an abandoned building on the Lower East Side. That was the worst. No heat, no water, no nothing. Half the windows in the place were broken. Then I got a job as a messenger boy and moved up in the world. I shared a squat with four other guys on the West Side near the docks. Still no heat or water, but it had windows!"

Justin watched Brian's face. He was so matter-of-fact about being poor. He was even laughing about it. "That sounds awful."

"You do what you have to do, kid," he said, pouring more wine for both of them. "When you're young you can live through anything. I always managed -- somehow. When I didn't have enough to eat, I went to the soup kitchen at Our Lady of Sorrows, or to the Salvation Army. And if I didn't have a place to sleep for the night, I usually found someone willing to take me home. Sometimes that was scary, but most of the time the guys were okay. It was an adventure. And I got other jobs, made a little money, took some acting lessons, found an acting job here and there, and I got by. All the time waiting for my big break. And I think this might be it. My first time on Broadway -- even if it is as an understudy. I know I'll get my chance."

Justin wasn't certain how he felt about Brian picking up strangers like that. It sounded dangerous -- and illegal. But he liked that Brian trusted him enough to tell him about it.

"What about that bad case of laryngitis for Brent Pearson?" Justin grinned.

"It'll happen," said Brian. "And if I get seen, then I'll get other parts. Bigger parts. People already know my name. I'm in the Actors Studio and that's huge in New York. One step at a time, that's what I tell myself. But I won't be in this dump much longer."

"You won't?" Justin blinked.

"Nope." Brian yawed. "I'm on month-by-month here. Next week we leave for New Haven. That's where we'll try out the play. Then to Philadelphia. Then back to New York and the Great White Way! I'll put my junk in storage at Mikey's and when I get back into town, I'll look for a better apartment. I'll have enough money to get a decent place then."

"No more bathtubs in the kitchen?" Justin teased.

"Or toilets down the hall," said Brian. "In case you need to piss. I'd suggest you go before... well, before you take your clothes off."

"Oh, am I going to take my clothes off?" Justin said coyly.

"Unless you want me to fuck you fully clothed." Brian began tugging at Justin's sweater. "I know it's cold in here, but I have a couple of blankets on the bed. It's much warmer underneath them."

"Aren't we going to eat the lemon squares?" Justin asked.

Brian stood up. "Bring them along. I'll eat them off your ass. Then I'll eat your ass. And you can eat mine."

Justin smiled. "That sounds like the best dessert ever, Brian!"

Brian pulled Justin up into his arms and kissed him. Kissed him with the taste of the wine and the Italian food and the cigarette all mingled together.

"No," breathed Brian. "This is."


	25. Chapter 25

  
Author's notes: Justin needs to think.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

Justin lay in bed, staring into the darkness. He knew he should get up, but he didn't want to. He wanted to stay where he was forever -- warm and satisfied and in Brian's arms. It was as if the pair were encased in a safe, blue cocoon that was keeping the world far away.

"Brian," he said finally, nudging his lover. "I have to go home."

"No," Brian muttered. "Too cold."

"But it's late," said Justin. "It's after 11:00. My cousin will kill me if I come home so late!"

"You're over 18," said Brian, stretching. "What's the big deal?"

"My cousin is overly protective," Justin explained. "She promised my mother she'd look out for me."

"So tonight I'm looking out for you." Brian turned over and rubbed himself against Justin. "I think I'm horny again."

"I'm serious, Brian!"

"And so am I." Brian sat up. "I have to piss." He got out of bed.

Justin drank in the sight of Brian's naked body. "Don't forget to put on your pants if you're going down to the end of the hall."

Brian sniffed. "No fucking way! I only use that poor excuse for an outhouse when I have to. In the middle of the night -- I have a stop-gap." He walked over to an old sink in the corner of the bedroom.

Justin made a face. "You're not going to piss in that sink, are you?"

"Watch me," said Brian. And he pissed directly into the drain. "This is a trick one of the guys in the squat taught me." He picked up a glass jug from the floor, poured a measure of clear liquid down the drain, then ran water from the faucet. "There."

"What's in the bottle?" asked Justin.

"Bleach." Brian gestured to Justin. "Your turn. Go ahead."

Justin got out of bed. He was suddenly aware of being naked in front of Brian. That was silly, since they'd made love a number of times, but it seemed different in bed than standing exposed in a freezing room.

"Gee, it's cold in here!" Justin trembled.

"Then hurry up and get back in bed." Which was what Brian was doing.

Justin pissed into the sink and tipped the bleach down the drain. Then he turned on the water. "It's cold, too!"

"This is a cold-water flat," said Brian. "There's no hot water in the building. If I want to wash myself or even a pair of socks, I have to boil water on the stove. See why I need to get out of this dive?"

Justin hurried back to the bed. "It's snowing again. Really hard."

Brian glanced over at the ice-covered window. "So I see. Another good reason to stay here."

"I should call Gillian."

"No phone," Brian reminded him.

"Oh, I forgot." Justin knew he should be worried, but he felt a strange calm. What could Gillian do to him, after all? Send him to bed without supper? Turn him into a toad? Neither of those options seemed likely.

"Tell your cousin you were at a friend's and it was too snowy to go home."

"But..."

"No buts," said Brian. "'Baby, it's cold outside!" as the song says. In this case, it's true. Now... where were we?"

***

Light coming in through the dirty window woke Justin at dawn. He knew he had to leave, but he still didn't want to. He wanted to stay in the chilly, dreary flat forever.

Brian was sleeping heavily, his soft snores vibrating against Justin's ear.

"Now I really have to go, Brian," he whispered.

"Hmm," Brian sighed.

"I hope I see you again before you leave town."

Brian's eyes fluttered open. "What?"

"I said I have to go," Justin repeated. "And I hope to see you before you leave for New Haven."

Brian looked away, his dark green eyes veiled. Then he recited, "'Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day... Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.'"

Justin stared. "What?"

"'Farewell! Farewell!'" Brian continued. "One kiss and I'll descend! Art thou gone so, love, lord, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, for in a minute there are many days'... and... and I can't remember what comes after that."

"What the heck was that all about?" Justin asked.

"'Romeo and Juliet,' but it was all mixed up."

"Oh," said Justin. "No one ever recited Shakespeare to me before."

"It works like a charm, kid," Brian smiled. "The chicks digs it like crazy."

"I dig it, too," said Justin. "Like crazy. But I still have to go."

Justin got dressed silently, knowing Brian was watching him from the bed. The last thing in his life he wanted to do was leave that room and go out into the snowy, dark day.

When he was finished putting on his clothes, he went over to the bed and kissed Brian gently. "Bye. Thanks for..." But Justin didn't know what to thank him for. The meal? The fuck? "Thanks for everything."

"Didn't you say you were from Connecticut?" Brian said out of the blue.

"Um, yes." Justin frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"New Haven is in Connecticut, right?"

"Yeah..."

"You could tell your cousin you're going to visit one of your friends in Connecticut." said Brian. "And that won't be a lie. I'm a friend and I'll be in Connecticut. That way you can see the play -- even if I'm not in it. But you could sit in on one of the understudy rehearsals."

Justin's heart was racing. "But what will you tell them? You can't say I'm..." Justin paused, unsure of what exactly he was to Brian.

"I'll say you're my... my cousin," Brian improvised. "You can come up for a weekend on the train and stay with me at the hotel. What do you say?"

"What do you think?" Justin kissed him again. "Of course!"

"Good," said Brian. "I'll see you -- later"

"Yes," said Justin. "Later."

Justin walked home as if in a trance. Brian wanted him to visit him in New Haven! He wanted him!

But what would Gillian say? If she found out about what he and Brian had been doing, she'd hit the roof.

So she wouldn't find out, Justin decided. But now I have to get past Gillian and Queenie...

Gillian's shop was dark and so were all the apartments in the building. Justin unlocked the door, concentrating on being quiet. Focusing his mind on being undetected. I'm invisible, he thought.

But then he hesitated. Gillian and Queenie were witches, much more practiced than he was. Would his little tricks work on another witch?

"I can't think about that," Justin whispered to himself. "I have to have faith in myself and what I can do."

He opened the door to Queenie's flat. It was utterly still. He hung up his coat and scarf and tiptoed down the hall to his bedroom...

"Justin. You're up early!"

"Oh, hello Auntie," he said to Queenie.

She was standing in the doorway of her room, wrapped in a long Japanese robe embroidered with large golden flowers. "I was just getting myself some milk. Will you join me?"

"Um... sure." Justin followed her into the kitchen. "I thought I'd go out and get the morning papers, but it's too snowy."

"Such a cold winter!" she said, opening the icebox. "But it looks so beautiful, don't you think? I remember when I was a little girl. We had some lovely winters in England. The snow clung to the houses like sugared frosting. We always got gingerbread treats with icing for Yule."

Good, thought Justin. She's off down Memory Lane. She's not even thinking about me. "Auntie, do you think Gillian would mind if I visited a friend up in Connecticut?"

"A friend from school?" Queenie fluttered.

"Yes, a very good friend," Justin confirmed.

"Is this friend a mortal?" she asked.

"Yes," said Justin. "That's why I'm afraid Gillian will say no."

"If it's a very good friend, I can't see why she would object," Queenie said. "The world is full of mortals and we must deal with them as best we can. Isn't your friend from the cafe an outsider?"

"Daphne? Yes, she's a mortal," said Justin. "And this friend -- Brian -- he's a great guy. He's in New Haven... at... at Yale. I've been working hard at the cafe and also doing well with my lessons with Gillian, and I'll be starting Professor Shimerov's life class next week. It would be a nice break to go up and visit my... my friend. Brian."

"I think that would be lovely," said Queenie. "A friend is a good thing to have." She finished her milk and yawned. "I'll be going back to my nice warm bed now. What about you, my dear? Do you have to go to the cafe so early?"

"No," said Justin. "I'm going back to bed."

He sat for a while after Queenie had gone back to her room.

Brian. Justin didn't care that he was a mortal. He wanted him! And Brian wanted him, too. Maybe if he concentrated all of his Power on Brian, then they could be together not just for a night, but for as long as they wanted to be.

And Justin wanted to be with Brian for a long, long time. And he would be with him!

He'd make certain of that.


	26. Chapter 26

  
Author's notes: Justin can't concentrate on his lesson.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

"Justin," said Gillian, snapping her fingers as Pyewacket yowled in protest.

"Huh?" The boy looked up, startled. "Sorry. What did you say again?"

"Justin, you must pay attention!" she said in exasperation. "If you don't concentrate, then your spells will go wrong! That could be very dangerous."

"I said I was sorry," Justin said sullenly. He tapped his pen against his Black Notebook. He was writing down the spells as Gillian recited them, but he was also doodling on the margins. Doodling the profile of a certain mortal.

"I'm only telling you this for your own good," said Gillian.

She centered herself and took a few deep breaths. It wouldn't do any good to become angry with Justin. You can't compel a witch to learn magic. That's the way to ruin them for the practice. Look at Nicky. Gillian was certain that her mother's attempts to force her only son into line was part of the reason Nicky was so rebellious and impossible. But Justin was still young and impressionable. Coaxing would be better tactic. Or perhaps dangling something tempting before his eyes...

"I know, Gil," Justin sighed. "But sometimes it's hard to stay focused."

"You seem preoccupied," Gillian said. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"Nothing," Justin said almost too quickly. "I'm just restless, I guess."

"Perhaps you are trying to do too much?" Gillian suggested. "You have your lessons with me and your job at the cafe and also the life class with the professor. I think you're simply tired. You don't need any extra money, Justin dear. Your mother is sending you money. And I'll give you an allowance equal to what you make at the cafe if you'll quit your job there."

Justin glared at his cousin. "No! I don't want to quit! I like working at the cafe! The people are interesting. And they talk about art and literature and films -- important things! It's everything I was hoping to find when I came to the Village. I won't quit, so don't try to make me!"

Well, thought Gillian, that was the wrong approach. "Of course I won't make you quit. But I simply don't want you to exhaust yourself. And I thought you might do better spending more time with your own kind instead of all those outsiders. The Zodiac Club might need another waiter. I could speak to Stanislaus for you."

Justin shook his head. "The Zodiac is okay, but all the people there are so old and moldy! There are all of Queenie's friends -- all those older ladies. And then there are the guys Nicky hangs out with -- they aren't really my type." Justin thought about Nicky's pals -- either hopped up hipsters with nervous twitches or slender, effete men who leered at him with sly, lingering eyes. And then there was Nicky's lover Sidney, who looked like an unmade bed and smoked big, smelly cigars.

Gillian had to agree with Justin. Perhaps the Zodiac was not the best place for a young warlock.

But the truth was that there weren't that many places for a young warlock to go because there weren't that many young witches and warlocks these days. And the youngsters who were in the community were often like Justin -- they preferred to live within the mortal world and have mortal friends. That was troubling, but true.

"Have you tried cultivating some friendships with your own kind?" Gillian asked. "What about Ethan? He's a nice young warlock from a very good family."

Justin shrugged. "Ethan's okay, but he's so full of himself."

"You two went to a jazz club together," said Gillian. "It was a mortal place, but I know a number of witches go enjoy going there."

"Yeah," said Justin. "The Blue Note. It was fun. We heard Miles Davis. But..." But Ethan isn't Brian, he thought. But he couldn't tell Gillian that.

So far she hadn't caught on to what was going on between him and Brian. Sometimes Justin could feel Gillian trying to probe his mind, but he was always able to counter her, putting up a bland, prosaic facade. He gathered images of the cafe and the art studio and the snowy streets of the Village and built a wall around his mind that Gillian seemed to accept as reality. It was easy.

That surprised Justin. Maybe Gillian simply didn't expect him to be able to counteract her probings and so she didn't question him to deeply. And it was true that her relationship with her own mortal, the stoop-shouldered and -- to Justin's mind -- goofy Shep Henderson, was rather rocky. That kept Gillian absorbed in her own problems, leaving Justin free to do what he pleased most of the time.

And what he pleased to do was to see Brian. Since the night he stayed over at Brian's flat, they had met almost every day for an hour or two, either before Brian had to go to rehearsal or afterwards, right before the dinner rush at the cafe. The dingy flat on Bedford Street wasn't the greatest place to make love, but Justin didn't care. It was their time together that mattered.

But now Brian was gone. To the first stop on the 'Happy Endings' tryout tour -- New Haven. Justin couldn't stop wondering what Brian was doing up in Connecticut. Was he picking up guys to wile away his lonely nights? Was he romancing one of the females in the cast? Justin had gotten a postcard of the Shubert Theater informing him that Brian had settled in at the Taft Hotel and would call him with the information for his visit, but he hadn't heard anything since then. And it had been more than a week...

"Justin! Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, Gil," he said. "May I be excused? I'm really tired. I can't concentrate on the spell tonight. I'll do better tomorrow, I promise."

"All right," Gillian sighed. "Good night."

She watched her young cousin trudge up to Queenie's flat. Whatever was the matter with the boy? Everything seemed to be fine, but obviously it was not.

"It must be his hot blood calling out," Gillian said to Pyewacket. "He's beyond the age when he should have been Initiated. No wonder he's so restless. It's all biological!"

Gillian padded over to her desk and opened her own Black Notebook, checking the lists she had made on the subject of her cousin, Justin Holroyd Taylor.

She needed to have another meeting with Mrs. De Passe. The old harpy had been insistent that they use a friend of hers, Mlle. Hortense. Bianca said that Hortense was very willing to come down from Montréal and participate in Justin's Initiation.

Gillian had never met Hortense, but she'd heard good things about her. She was a practiced witch who owned a Tarot shop in the Vieux-Montréal near the Place d'Armes and was extremely active in the community in Québec. But Mlle. Hortense had two strikes against her -- she was 47 years old and she was a she. Neither of those things was likely to thrill a sexually curious 19-year-old warlock.

And Justin needed more than a simple, straightforward Initiation. He needed someone strong, who would kindle his Power. Someone sexy, who could strike a true spark with him. Inspire him. Bring out the formidable warlock Justin was meant to be. As willing as Mlle. Hortense might be, Gillian doubted that she could ignite that kind of fire within her stubborn cousin.

Gillian opened a magazine, a recent copy of 'International Art World.' In it was an article about a distinguished professor of Art History who was currently lecturing at Columbia University. Included was a photograph of the professor. He was tall, muscular, and strong-jawed. Exactly the kind of male who would quicken the heart of a man-loving boy.

And Gillian knew something else about the professor -- that he was a warlock.

"He's perfect," Gillian mused. "Even Bianca De Passe can't deny that! And there's no time to waste with Justin. We must begin his preparation soon. He must be Initiated before the Summer Solstice so that he can participate in the Midsummer Rites. And this is the warlock who will Initiate him."

She knew he wouldn't say no. In fact, he'd probably be honored. The Holroyds were a celebrated family and a connection with them would be something greatly to be desired.

"I'll call him tomorrow," Gillian decided. "We'll settle the matter once and for all."

And in her Black Notebook she wrote the warlock's name in golden ink.

Benjamin Bruckner, Ph.D.


	27. Chapter 27

  
Author's notes: Justin needs advice.  


* * *

February 1958.

 

Justin hesitated before knocking on Nicky's door.

He'd never been to his cousin's before. From what Gillian and Queenie said about it, the place was a dump, but Justin had been to Brian's dive of an apartment and lived to tell the tale.

Nicky's single room was in the Carnegie Arms, a fleabag hotel on the Bowery. He'd apparently had a better place when he was working at the herb shop, but he'd quit that job to focus on his bongo playing -- and to work on a secret project with his lover, the writer -- and outsider -- Sidney Retlich.

"I don't trust that mortal," Gillian had said at dinner the other evening. Nicky had come to Queenie's flat that afternoon to borrow money from her for his rent. "He and Nicky are up to something, and if I know my brother, it's something shady. I don't want you lending him any more money, Auntie Dear. Nicky gets an allowance from me and that should be enough for his basic needs -- at least until he gets a decent job!"

"Doesn't that Mr. Retlich have some money?" Queenie asked. "From his book, 'Magic in Mexico'? Mr. Henderson says it's sold ever so many copies!"

"That book!" Gillian spat. "I can't imagine who would take it seriously. It's full of lies and ridiculous speculations. However, there are enough things in there that come too close for comfort. Mortals read it and begin to wonder. They begin to think that perhaps witches might be more real than they'd imagined. That's why I had Nicky get friendly with Retlich in the first place -- to put him off the track. I certainly never expected my own brother to take up with the man! Why, he isn't even attractive!"

"Oh, I think he has a rather rumpled charm," Queenie fluttered.

"Rumpled?" Gillian sniffed. "He looks like an unmade bed and he smells of cheap cigars! Nicky's taste has gone completely awry!" She leveled her gaze at Justin. "Let that be a lesson to you, young man -- mortals are nothing but trouble!"

Justin swallowed. "Yes, Gil," he replied meekly. But his mind was on Brian.

So far he'd been able to keep his relationship with that particular mortal a secret. Sometimes he could feel Gillian poking around the edges of his mind, trying to find out what he was thinking, but Justin was always able to obstruct her by re-focusing his attention on mundane things. But Justin had no doubt that if Gillian thought he was hiding something vital from her, she'd be able to break him apart like a piece of ripe fruit.

And then there was the question of his Initiation.

Gillian had been referring to it more and more. And talking about it on the phone with Mrs. De Passe and some of the other Elders. Something was up with his Initiation -- and that made Justin extremely nervous.

That's why he'd come to see Nicky. He was his only male relative -- at least on the witch side -- and Justin couldn't think of anyone else who might advise him about his future.

"Yes?" said Nicky, cracking open the door and peering out suspiciously. "Justin! Come on in and take a load off." He ushered Justin inside. The room was cramped and messy, with dirty laundry and old papers piled on the floor, the double bed that took up most of the space sagging and unmade. "You know Sidney, don't you?"

The mortal was seated at a battered desk, hunched over a typewriter, a huge cigar belching acrid smoke into the already rank air of the tiny room. He had curly black hair that needed a good washing, with bushy black eyebrows and a mustache to match.

"Sure," said Justin. "At the Zodiac Club. Hello, Mr. Retlich."

"Yeah, hi kid," the man mumbled, never taking his eyes off the typewriter.

"Can I get you a drink?" Nicky grinned. He picked up a bottle of cheap Bourbon from the dresser and looked around for a glass. "We don't have many visitors up here."

"No thanks," said Justin, eyeing the filthy glass Nicky picked up from the desk. Even Brian's cold-water walk-up wasn't as dismal as this place. "I don't really drink."

"I'll have one, Nick," said Retlich. "Make it a double."

"Maybe you should slow down, Sidney?" Nicky suggested. "You've already had half this bottle and we don't have another one."

"So we'll get another one," Retlich huffed. "I need lubrication for my creative process!"

Nicky ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But we don't have enough money for another bottle until I get my Unemployment check!"

Retlich shrugged. "Hock your record player again. Then you can get it out when the check comes."

"But I need my record player!" Nicky retorted. "Music lubricates my creative process!"

Justin could see that a real argument was brewing between the two lovers. "Nicky, I need to talk to you. Can we take a walk or something?" Yes, please, thought Justin. Anything to get out of this awful room!

"Sure, kid," said Nicky, grabbing his coat and hat. "We're going out for a while, okay, Sidney?"

"Yeah, yeah," the man grunted. "Don't forget to bring back a bottle."

Even though it was bitterly cold, Justin was glad to get out of the Carnegie Arms and into the fresh air.

"Why don't you guys have any money? I thought Mr. Retlich had a book on the Best Seller List?" he asked Nicky as they walked along the Bowery. The street was shadowy and garbage-strewn, with winos and homeless men huddled around a fire burning in a trash can on one corner.

"Well, that's the strange thing," said Nicky slowly. "Something is holding up Sidney's money. The publisher says it's an accounting error, but it seems fishy to me. The book is selling like hotcakes, but Sidney is only getting a pittance. Of course the publisher gets the first cut. And Sid has three ex-wives who all get alimony. And then his agent takes a cut. And his bookie. And some guy in Mexico he owes money to. We seem to be living off my Unemployment -- and the allowance Gil gives me."

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea for Mr. Retlich to write about... you know what," said Justin, glancing around.

"You mean witches?" said Nicky in a loud voice. "No one around here cares about that! You can say it as loud as you want to. Listen -- that topic is a gold mine, kid! People are fascinated by magic. And wait until they get a gander at Sidney's new book. I'm helping him -- and he's giving me credit as co-author!"

"Really?" Justin frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"Because it's all about what I know best -- real witches!" said Nicky. "And not in Mexico, either. 'Magic in Manhattan' -- that's the title. It's going to be a sensation!"

Justin was shocked. "You can't be serious! He can't write a book about that! And you're helping him? Why?"

"Money! Why else?" Nicky said. "This'll show Gillian and my mother that I'm not a total failure! Sidney and I will make a mint. And Shep Henderson is going to publish it!"

"Nicky, you can't!" Justin cried. "You can't let everyone know about us! It's too dangerous!"

"What are they going to do, Justin? Burn us at the stake? Throw us into a swimming pool to see if we float?" Nicky scoffed. "This is the 20th Century!"

"You can't," Justin repeated. "Besides, Gillian won't let you."

"Let her try and stop me!" said Nicky defiantly. "I'm her brother. She's always saying I need to do something with my life. Well, now I'm doing something. And I'm going to be a big success!"

"I have a bad feeling about this," said Justin.

"Leave it me, kid," said Nicky. "Now what did you want to talk to me about?"

Justin sighed. His worries seemed minuscule compared to what would happen if Nicky and Retlich's book ever saw the light of day. "Gillian is talking about my Initiation. And I... I don't think I want to do it."

"Then don't," Nicky said carelessly. "I didn't. You should have seen Ma's face when she found out I wasn't a virgin! Ha! She looked like she'd sucked on a sour pickle!"

Well, thought Justin, Nicky got away with not being Initiated. And from what Justin had heard from Queenie, Morgan was a very powerful and controlling witch. "What did your mother do to you?"

"Nothing! What could she do? It was already too late." Nicky gave Justin his cockiest grin. "Years too late, actually! I was an early developer. But Ma and Aunt Gwynyth didn't have a clue. They were so busy with their herb farm and training Gillian that they forgot all about me. So I went my own way. Just like I do now. That's how it is for most warlocks, Justin. The witch world is a female world. They run things and only come to us when they really need a man. Like when they want to cast a major spell -- or if they want a baby. Otherwise they act like we're in the way."

"What kinds of spells do they need a man for?" asked Justin. He hadn't reached that lesson yet.

"Like if they need to cast all Four Elements," said Nicky. "They need Air -- so they have to have a warlock. Or if they're going to perform the Great Rite on the Summer Solstice. They need both Male and Female Elements for that. Two women won't do."

Justin frowned. "Gillian mentioned that once. What's the Great Rite?"

"A spell that conjures a huge amount of Power," Nicky confided. "The chosen witch and warlock make love in the center of the Circle and the entire coven draws Power from them. It's pretty rare these days, mainly because all the Elements have to be just right. But when it works, it's a doozy of a spell! And sometimes a baby gets born out of the Great Rite. When that happens, the kid is extra powerful. That's how Gillian was born."

Justin gaped. "Really?"

Nicky nodded. "That's why she's so special. Unlike me, who's the black sheep of the Holroyd Clan. But I don't care. I wouldn't want that responsibility!"

They walked in silence for a while, Justin considering what his cousin had told him. "Nicky, I think that I don't want to be Initiated."

"Then don't," he replied. "Do what I did and beat Gil to the punch."

"You mean... find my own lover?"

"Sure. If you don't know anyone, I can take you to the Mumbo Jumbo. A cute number like you can pick up a trick there in five minutes." Nicky snapped his fingers. "Nothing to it! But whatever you do, don't ask the guy his name. If Gillian gets that information out of you, she's liable to mess up the guy in ways you don't want to think about."

Justin gulped. "What ways?"

Nicky kicked at a non-existent crack in the sidewalk. "When my mother found out the name of the guy I'd been doing it with -- a mortal, unfortunately -- she... um... cast a spell on him that made him sorry he'd ever met me. Poor bastard!"

Justin stopped dead in his tracks. "What did she do to him?"

Nicky grimaced. "You don't want to know the details, kid, but they call it a Wasting spell. Let's say that he never messed around with a young warlock ever again -- or with anyone else. Not with what he had left of his dick!"

Justin stared. "I hope you're joking."

Nicky shrugged. "That's the way of the world, Justin. The way of the world. Now I have to find some money to get Sidney that bottle."

Justin watched his cousin head down the street to the nearest liquor store. Then he took a letter from Brian out of his pocket. In it was a train ticket to New Haven, Connecticut.


	28. Chapter 28

  
Author's notes: A train to New Haven.  


* * *

March 1958.

 

"New Haven!" cried the conductor. "All out for New Haven!"

Justin gathered up his jacket and his schoolbag, then pulled his suitcase down from the overhead rack.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you know where the Taft Hotel is?" he asked the conductor.

"There's a cab stand in front of the depot, son," said the conductor. "Ask a driver to take you to the hotel."

"Thank you, sir."

Justin took a deep breath. He was here. In New Haven. Finally.

Gillian had almost not let him come. For the past few weeks she had been preoccupied with some new project. She was always on the telephone, talking to someone, or meeting someone uptown. If she hadn't still been seeing Shep Henderson, the publisher who lived downstairs from Queenie, Justin would have thought she was pursuing a new love affair. But it was something else that was taking up Gil's time and energy.

"I don't know if a trip is a good idea," she had said to him only three days before. "Who is this boy, Brian? And why do you want to spend so much time with a mortal?"

"He's a good friend of mine," explained Justin, not exactly lying, but also not exactly telling the truth. "Yes, he's a mortal, but he's a nice guy. He invited me to visit him at college. At Yale. I think it would be a nice break for me. Haven't I been doing well on my lessons? And working at the cafe, too? And taking Professor Shimerov's life class?"

"I don't know..." Gillian frowned as she padded barefoot across the white rug and picked up Pyewacket, who was lazing in front of the fire. She stroked the cat, who turned his blue slanted eyes on Justin with an evil glare. "Let me think about it."

"But I'm supposed to leave on Friday!" Justin reminded her. "My friend sent me a train ticket! He'll be expecting me!"

Justin stared intently at his cousin. If Gillian used that cat to probe his mind directly, she was likely to discern that Justin wasn't telling her the whole truth. Or she'd know that he was consciously blocking her and then she'd try more direct -- and possibly unpleasant -- means to get to the bottom of Justin's deception.

Justin closed his eyes, focusing his Power on Redirection. He needed something that would come between his cousin's Power and his own. Something that would send her attention off in a different direction.

Shep. Yes, that was it. He was in his apartment. Come to the door, Shep Henderson. Tell her. Tell her what's going on with Nicky and Retlich's book!

There was a loud knock and a voice called out "Hey, Gil! It's me!"

Shep Henderson came to the door of the shop that evening, responding to Justin's Summons. And Gillian put down the cat and ran to let him in. Justin took the opportunity to slip back upstairs, but a little while later Gil rushed up to tell him and Queenie that Shep had informed her about the book Nicky was writing with his lover. And about how Shep's publishing company was hoping 'Magic in Manhattan' would be a huge best seller, bigger even than 'Magic in Mexico.'

Of course, Gillian was furious. She raged on and on about Nicky and his damned mortal, pacing back and forth, her lavender eyes blazing fire. She vowed she'd stop the book, stop Sidney Retlich, and stop Nicky. She'd show them! They wouldn't get away with spilling secrets outsiders had no right to know!

In the fallout of Gillian's anger, she forgot all her reservations about Justin's trip. "Yes, yes," she said the next day. "Go and have fun. Call Queenie when you're coming back so she'll know when to expect you."

Justin smiled as he opened his eyes. He was on the top step of the train, ready to step down. The air was cold, but the sun was shining. After a freezing February it looked to be a mild March.

"Justin! Over here!"

He was surprised to see Brian in the doorway of the station, waving. He looked tall and beautiful in his long camelhair coat and cashmere scarf. He'd also gotten a haircut, Justin noticed. Brian had always worn his hair long in back and a little shaggy on top, Bohemian-style. But now he looked older. More mature and distinguished. But still beautiful.

"I didn't expect to see you." Justin wanted to hug his lover. Kiss him. But that was impossible. Justin felt a pang of regret as couples all around them were greeting and embracing, kissing hello. Instead he held out his hand for Brian to shake.

But Brian put his arms a round him and pressed him closely. It was only for a moment, but it felt like a revelation to Justin.

"I was afraid you'd get lost on the way to the hotel, so I thought I better come down here and escort you myself." Brian took Justin's suitcase out of his hand. "I borrowed a car from one of the guys."

"This is great!" Justin exclaimed. "I can't believe I'm really here!"

"I'm glad you could come," Brian replied. "I mean that. It'll be fun. And I have big news, too."

Justin's ears perked up. "What news?"

"Keep your shorts on, kid," Brian laughed. "At least for now! I'll tell you everything, but first we have to get back to the hotel. We have time to get you settled, have a little dinner, then I've got to be at the theater for a 7:00 call. Curtain is at 8:30."

"This is so exciting!" said Justin. "I can hardly wait to see the play!"

"It's coming along," said Brian. "They're rewriting the whole third act, but that's par for the course for a play out of town."

"How is Brent Pearson?" Justin asked. Brian's letters had mentioned the star a number of times.

"Not bad." Brian stopped at a long black Buick Roadmaster, took out a key, and opened the trunk. "This is his car."

Justin stared at the shining behemoth of a vehicle. "Brent Pearson lets you drive his car?"

"I'm his understudy, after all." Brian heaved the suitcase into the trunk and slammed it shut. "It's the least he can do for me. Come on -- we're wasting time!"

"Your hair," said Justin as they got into the car. "You look... different."

"I have to look like my character," said Brian. "He's the heir to an old family fortune, so he has to look like he can afford a decent haircut. I know it makes me look older." Brian made a face. "But Brent is more than 10 years older than I am, so I need to match him. Actually, the character is closer to my age, but Brent reads as younger on stage. Well, a little younger."

"You look great," said Justin. "You'd look great even if you shaved your head!"

Brian gave him a horrified look. "Let's not get carried away!"

"You'd do it for the right role, wouldn't you?" Justin asked.

Brian considered. "It would have to be a good part. But yes -- I'd do a lot of things for the right role. I already have done a lot of things for the right role."

Justin cocked his head questioningly. "Like what?"

"Never mind, brat," said Brian, changing the subject. "Look -- Yale is over there. And the hotel is right next to the theater. That makes it handy. Everyone trying out a play in New Haven stays at the Taft."

"And you have your own room?" Justin had been afraid to ask if there'd be a roommate.

"Yup," Brian confirmed. "Just me -- and my visiting cousin."

"Is that what you told everyone?"

"Yes," said Brian. "So keep the story straight. You're visiting from Dartmouth, in case anyone asks."

"That'll be easy," said Justin. "Since I was at Dartmouth all last term."

Brian nodded. "That's what I figured. I told Melvin, the director, that you were an art student interested in set design, so that'll give you an excuse to hang around the theater while we're rehearsing. I also squared it with Daniel, the designer, and told a couple of other people in the cast, so they won't ask a lot of questions about who you are. Are you okay with that?"

"Of course!" Justin agreed. "Anything you say is fine with me. I'm just happy to be here!"

"Good." He turned into a small lot near a large building. Justin could see the facade of the theater just beyond it. "I have to park in this spot. It's reserved for Brent's car. The management treats him like a fucking movie star!"

"Imagine that!" Justin laughed. "He is a fucking movie star!"

"Maybe some day I'll rate, too." Brian took Justin's suitcase out of the trunk. "Follow me, kid."

Brian strolled into the lobby of the hotel. It was large and impressive, but Justin could also tell that the hotel had seem better days. It had the air of an aging diva who still had a grand manner even if her edges were more than a bit worn.

"Mr. Kinney," said the desk clerk, handing Brian his key and a handful of messages. "I see your cousin has arrived."

"Yes, Charles," said Brian, glancing at the slips of paper. "Did they take up the rollaway bed?"

"Yes, sir," said the clerk. "I hope you have a pleasant stay at the Taft, young man."

"I will!" Justin said brightly. "Thanks!"

They got into the elevator and rode to the sixth floor.

"What did you mean about the rollaway, Brian?" Justin asked.

"For my cousin to sleep on," said Brian, opening the door. The room was small, with the double bed and the rollaway taking up most of the floor space. "So remember to mess it up every morning."

"I'll try..."

But Justin had barely gotten the words out when Brian threw him on the big bed and began pulling his clothes off.

"Geez, Brian!" Justin breathed. "Let me unpack first!"

"Geez, nothing!" Brian panted. "You can take care of your suitcase after the play! I need to unpack you first!"

Justin's skin touched Brian's and it suddenly felt as if they were both on fire and had to get their clothes off or they would burn. Justin hitched his legs up high as Brian slathered his cock with Vaseline and then plunged inside Justin with a profound groan. They both came almost immediately, but then Brian backed off and began again, this time slower and more deliberately. They both came once more and the room seemed to be charged with the electricity of their coupling.

"I've fucked a lot of guys in my life and also a lot of girls, but I don't know what it is about you," whispered Brian afterwards. They were lying side by side, still touching each other. Unable to stop touching each other. "I haven't been able to think about anything except you! It's been screwing up my concentration like crazy! What is it? Tell me! Explain it to me!"

"I don't know," Justin whispered back. "But I feel it, too."

Justin stared into his lover's face. Brian's emotions were all on the surface, his puzzlement written in his expression like the words of a play, meant to be spoken aloud.

Was this real, Justin wondered? Or was he doing it? Was he unconsciously casting an Infatuation spell on Brian? He wasn't trying to do it -- he didn't know how to do that spell, at least not yet -- unless wishing for something so deeply and so earnestly was enough to make it happen.

But Gillian said that an Infatuation only lasted a short time, then faded in the cold light of day. But this wasn't fading. If anything, it was getting stronger every time they met. This was something more than Infatuation.

Something real.

Wasn't it?

But witches can't fall in love, Justin reminded himself. They can't. Can't!

But what about Brian? What about mortals?

"I don't understand it," said Brian, lighting a cigarette. He took a drag and blew out the smoke. "I really don't."

"Then don't question it, Brian," said Justin. "Let's enjoy it while we can."

"Okay," said Brian. "I think we can enjoy it at least once more, maybe twice, before we have to go to dinner. So flip over."

"Sure thing!" Justin said, rolling onto his stomach.

And he smiled to himself as Brian took him again. And then once more when he took Brian.


	29. Chapter 29

  
Author's notes: At the diner.  


* * *

March 1958.

 

Brian took Justin to a greasy spoon not far from the theater. It was full of stagehands, truck drivers, Yale students, and nondescript men hunched over plates of meatloaf and cups of black coffee. They sat in the back booth, but Brian didn't bother looking at a menu.

"Two Blue Plate Specials, beautiful," Brian told the elderly waitress, who blushed like a schoolgirl as she wrote down the order. "And coffee. You know how I like it. How about you, kid?"

"Root beer, please," said Justin. "Thanks."

"Sorry this isn't more posh," Brian said to Justin. "We get a per diem for food, but I'm trying to save as much money as I can. I have bills I have to pay when I get back to New York, plus the deposit on a new apartment, so I have to be careful."

"This is fine," Justin replied. "I don't eat a lot of gourmet food."

Brian smirked. "But you're from a fancy suburb, brat. I'm sure you're used to better food than I can afford."

"Not really," Justin countered. "My mother made a lot of casseroles and Jello molds. And Queenie hardly cooks at all. I eat most of my meals at the cafe these days."

"Well, the food here isn't as good as Deb's, but it's cheap and they give you plenty of it." The waitress put Brian's coffee in front of him and he immediately began filling it with sugar. "Grease, starch, and sugar -- that's what I live on. Good thing I go to the Y every morning to work out, otherwise I'd be waddling around like a stuffed turkey!"

"I don't believe that for a minute!" Justin laughed. "You're so skinny, Brian! Too skinny, if you ask me!"

"Ha! Have you seen this profile?" Brian turned his head to show Justin. "See that chin? One slip up and that's all she wrote!"

"I think your chin is fine," said Justin, pulling the paper off a straw and plunging it into his root beer. "Your chin is perfect."

"It better be. In this business everything has to be perfect or you're screwed." Brian lowered his voice. "And speaking of screwed... my ass feels like the Rhone Valley after Patton's army plowed through it."

"Brian!" Justin exclaimed. "Shut up!"

"I'm not kidding! I don't usually... well, I'm not used to... you know what." Brian glanced around, but no one was even looking in their direction. "At least not recently."

"Really?" Justin felt pleased. Brian had never let him do that before and he'd been surprised at how much he enjoyed it. It made him feel powerful. Manly. In control. And he'd also been surprised that Brian seemed to enjoy it, too -- a lot. He didn't know very much about what queers did -- mainly what Ethan and Emmett had told him about their sexual exploits -- but he'd been under the impression that some guys fucked and others got fucked and that was that. Obviously, that wasn't the case with Brian.

"Yeah." Brian grimaced as he pretended to rub his ass.

"What about... your friend? The guy with the apartment?" They'd never discussed Brian's relationship with the producer, but he had alluded to it a number of times.

"You mean R.J.? He likes it rough," Brian confided. "He liked me at first because he thought I was strictly trade. Then later, when he found out I wasn't, he was already hooked. So I played the game. It's easy once you know what a guy is into. R.J. is a powerful man, but he likes the fantasy of being taken. Being dominated. So... that's what I give him. Or I did when we were together."

"What's trade?" Justin asked.

"A straight guy who does it for money," Brian said. "Hold it. Here comes the food."

The waitress set down two large plates of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, with everything covered in thick brown gravy. She also brought a basket of Wonder Bread and a dish heaped with pats of cold butter. "Enjoy, fellas."

"See?" said Brian when she'd gone. "Greasy, but filling."

Justin took a taste. "Not bad. Needs salt, though." He sprinkled salt, then pepper, on top of the whole mess. "That's better."

"Eat up," Brian urged. "It's going to be a long night."

"You mean at the theater?" Justin grinned impishly.

"I mean in general," said Brian. "Which reminds me -- I haven't told you my big news. I have to be at the theater at 7:00 for the call because..." He stopped, letting the drama build.

"Because?" Justin nodded encouragingly.

"I'm going on tonight!"

"What!" Justin stared. "But what about Brent Pearson?"

"Oh, he's going on," said Brian. "He's fine. But the other day Melvin, the director, called me to his room and told me that they weren't happy with the guy playing the younger brother. And I have to agree -- he was all wrong! Brent is tall and dark, like me, and this guy was short and stocky with red hair. And he was a lousy actor, too. So they told me they'd let him go and I'd be playing his part! So I'm no longer just an understudy -- I'm part of the main cast! I went on for the first time last night."

"Brian!" Justin exclaimed. "That's super! But what about the understudy job?"

"Oh, I'm still going to understudy Brent," Brian informed him. "The brother is only in two scenes and has about ten lines, but who gives a damn? That means I'm going to make my debut on Broadway without having to wait for Brent to break his leg! Unless I get fired, too, of course. But I don't think I will. Melvin and the producers seem to like me. They wouldn't have given me this part unless they thought I was doing well in the understudy rehearsals."

"What are understudy rehearsals?"

"Just what they sound like, kid," said Brian. "Extra rehearsals with me playing Brent's part and the other understudies playing the roles they're covering. We have one every time they make a major change in the script -- which is about every other day lately. That third act is giving them trouble. It's always the damn third act in any play that gives them trouble! We're having a rehearsal tomorrow morning, before the Saturday matinee."

Justin clapped his hands. "That's great! I want to see the play even more now that I know you'll be on every night!"

"It means I'll be getting a little more money, too." Brian's face turned somber. "Besides rent and paying off all my debts, I need to send some money to... to someone."

"Your parents?" Justin was curious. Brian never talked about his family in Pittsburgh.

"No, not them. My old man is dead and my mother... we don't exactly get along." Brian took out a pack of Pall Malls and lit a cigarette nervously. "I need to send money to Lindsay."

"Your girlfriend?" Justin hadn't seen her around the Village and had assumed they'd broken up in the wake of her abortion. But Brian wasn't aware that he'd been in the alley that day, watching their painful confrontation.

"Yeah." Brian played with the cigarette, twirling it through his long fingers. "She's in Philadelphia. She's having a baby. My baby."

"Oh." Justin sat very still. So, Lindsay hadn't gone through with it. Justin wasn't certain how he felt about that. His lover was going to be a father.

"R.J. offered to send her some money, but I told him it was my kid and my responsibility," Brian stated. "Her parents have big bucks, but I don't want them to think I'm such a bum that I can't support my own kid! Lindsay wanted me to marry her, but..." Brian shrugged.

Justin was almost afraid to ask, afraid to say the word that was in his head. "You don't... love her?"

"I don't know what the hell love is," Brian replied. "I feel something for Lindz, but I can't marry her. I can't marry anyone! She knows that." He lowered his voice again. "And she knows why. Just like you know why." Brian hunched over the table, his eyes veiled. "Now R.J. is a practical guy. He's always thinking about my career. And he says I should do it. Get married right away. That it would be the perfect set-up -- young actor with a beautiful blonde wife and a new baby on the way. That way no one would ever question me. No one would ever suspect. But I can't live like that! I can't spend my entire life lying. I... I just can't!"

Justin felt a huge lump in his throat and it wasn't the meatloaf. "Then what will you do, Brian? How can you be an actor and still be... what you are? What we are?"

"I don't know," said Brian honestly. "I don't fucking know! The only thing I can do is keep trying to figure out a way."


	30. Chapter 30

  
Author's notes: Justin sees the play.  


* * *

March 1958.

 

On Friday evening Justin watched 'Happy Endings' from house seats that Brian got from Brent Pearson. That meant he was front and center in the Shubert Theater, in the perfect place to view the proceedings.

The play was a standard drawing room comedy -- beautiful people wearing evening clothes and speaking witty lines as they pretended to drink champagne, ridiculous complications and misunderstandings keeping the leading man and leading lady apart, a subplot involving a missing diamond ring, and funny servants to provide slapstick comic relief.

The play itself was cliched and predictable -- Noel Coward light. But Brent Pearson was surprisingly good, Justin thought. He looked like a movie star and he said the lines convincingly, even if he still seemed stiff on stage. The leading lady, an ingenue named Sylvia Stewart, was beautiful, but vacuous and way too young -- the part need someone elegant and brittle, like a younger Katharine Hepburn, who would be more believable as a madcap heiress. Poor Sylvia Stewart was a little too bargain basement for the role. A few of the minor players forgot their lines and the blocking was clumsy in some of the scenes -- Brian had told him at dinner that the director kept changing it. But that's why plays had tryouts out of town, to work out the kinks. But altogether Justin -- and the New Haven audience -- enjoyed 'Happy Endings.'

And Brian. What could he say? Brian was great! Amazing, even! He came on in the first act wearing tennis shorts and a tight white sweater, swinging a tennis racket. Justin heard a woman in the row behind him gasp -- those tennis shorts left nothing to the imagination! And Brian filled them out like a star. As he'd warned Justin, he only had a few lines, but he made them count. He was on stage for much of Act One, standing in the background, making a toast, flirting with all the women in the cast, and looking utterly gorgeous. Much better than Brent Pearson, Justin thought. He could hardly wait for the understudy rehearsal tomorrow to see what Brian would make of the lead role.

After the play was over Justin went to the stage door and gave the guard his name. He was then led through the dusty backstage area and up a flight of stairs to the dressing room Brian shared with two other actors -- an older man playing the grandfather and a middle-aged man playing the butler.

Brian was standing in front of a mirror in his jockey shorts, wiping his face with a towel and laughing

"Hey, brat! Guys -- this is my cousin, Justin. Say hello to the guys, Justin."

"Hello, guys!" Justin waved.

The other two men were taking off their make-up and changing into their street clothes. They nodded at Justin politely.

"So then I told Brent that he should join the Actors Studio," said Brian, continuing a conversation. "That he should be doing the classics -- Chekhov, Strindberg, Shaw, Ibsen. Working with Strasberg would give him a good grounding to do that kind of work."

"Brent isn't an actor, Brian," said the older man, who had a pronounced British accent. "He's a film star. Why should he waste his time doing scenes from 'Uncle Vanya' when he's only doing this play to bide his time until he gets another picture -- or a television series?"

"But he could he good!" Brian insisted. "He just needs a little technique." Brian tossed his towel onto the dressing table. "Talking shop, kid. So, how did you like the play?"

"I loved it!" Justin exclaimed. The middle-aged actor rolled his eyes. "I mean, it's pretty good. It was funny. And the audience liked it."

"That's all that matters, dear boy," said the older actor. "The audience is king! If it runs, it's a success, if it doesn't -- then we are all out of a job!"

"Then I hope it runs," said Justin.

"Amen to that!" the middle-aged actor muttered sourly.

Brian wrapped his arm around Justin's shoulders. "Justin, this is Edgar Phillips-Smythe. He's playing my esteemed grandfather."

The older man shook Justin's hand. "Happy to make your acquaintance, dear boy."

"You were great, sir."

Phillips-Smythe bowed. "I shall take that as a high compliment, coming from such a delightful young gentleman as yourself."

"And this blot on humanity," said Brian. "Is Howard Wenner, formerly Hymie Weinberg of Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn."

"Shut the hell up, Kinney! Wait until I tell everybody you changed your name from Moe Rabinowitz!" Howard growled.

"It's all acting, isn't it?" Brian raised an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't be so smug," Howard grumbled. "Pretty boys like you are a dime a dozen in this business. But real actors -- that's something else again. But you wouldn't know anything about that, Kinney."

"Howie's father was Moishe Weinberg," Brian explained. "He was a huge star in the old Yiddish theater and he trained Howie to follow in his footsteps."

"What's the Yiddish theater?" asked Justin. "I never heard of it."

"Exactly my point," said Brian.

"Shmuck!" Howard said.

"It takes one to know one, Howie!" Brian laughed.

"What's shmuck mean?" said Justin, completely lost.

"Never mind, dear boy," said Edgar Phillips-Smythe. He adjusted his polka dot ascot as he looked at himself in the mirror. "And now I must take my leave. I have an appointment with a young man who is interested in a career in the theater. I hope to give him the maximum effect of my expertise."

"Give him hell, Edgar," said Brian, slapping the old man on the back. "See you tomorrow."

"Au revoir, my dears!"

"That old fruit," said Howie after the older actor left. "Still chasing boys at his age! Doesn't he have a wife at home in Limey Land?"

"Of course," said Brian, pulling on a pair of trousers and threading his belt through the loops. "Don't they all? I think you're just jealous, Howie, because the old man is getting more action than you are!"

"At least I don't have to pay for my pussy! And you wouldn't be so tolerant if he made a pass at you, Kinney." Howard put on his coat and hat. "You watch it, too, kid," he said to Justin. "The theater is full of guys trying to get into your pants. And it's not just the obvious ones, either."

"You mean... homosexuals?" Justin glanced at Brian, but his lover's face was passive. "I'll be careful, sir."

"See that you are." Howard yawned. "You guys going to that party?"

"Yes," said Brian. "I thought my cousin would enjoy meeting everyone. You going?"

"Nah," Howard shook his head. "I'm beat. And we have that understudy rehearsal tomorrow. I need to get some shut-eye, nu? See you in the morning, Bri."

"Night, Howie." Brian waited until Howard closed the door, then he pulled Justin close and kissed him. "Alone at last!"

"Is it safe, Brian?" Justin asked nervously.

Brian kissed him again. "Sure. Howard's on his way back to the hotel to call his ex-wife and fight with her over the phone, Edgar's on his way to an assignation with a Yale student who moonlights as a male prostitute, and the rest of the cast is going to a party. Which is where we're going, too."

"Really? A party?" Justin was delighted. "Where?"

"Brent Pearson's suite at the Taft," said Brian, grabbing his camelhair coat and cashmere scarf. "Free food and booze! It should be one heck of a wingding!"

"What are we waiting for?" Justin grinned. "Let's go!"


	31. Chapter 31

  
Author's notes: A party.  


* * *

March 1958.

 

The party was in full swing when Brian and Justin walked into Brent Pearson's suite.

Brent had the largest and most luxurious room in the Taft Hotel. It wasn't particularly glamorous by New York standards, but it was still the finest New Haven had to offer. Music was playing on a phonograph and two couples were dancing in a small space by the window, while others were sitting on the sofa and chairs, or standing in close knots, talking intently. An open bar had been set up in the corner of the living room and a table laid out with food, mainly hors-d'oeuvres, finger sandwiches, and pizza. Brian immediately headed for the bar, while Justin made a beeline for the food.

"You want a drink?" asked Brian, scotch in hand, when they met up again a few minutes later.

"Not yet," said Justin. His plate was piled with pizza and tiny meatballs skewered with frilly toothpicks. "Aren't you hungry?"

Brian shrugged. "The more I eat, the more I'll have to work it off in the morning at the Y."

Justin held up his plate in offering. "Eat something! You have to keep your strength up, especially when you're doing the play every night!"

"I'm fine," Brian insisted. "I'll have something later."

"Bri darling," said a dark-haired woman Justin recognized as the actress who played the leading lady's best friend. "Who's this cutie?"

"Irene, this is Justin," said Brian. Then he raised his voice. "Everybody! Remember when I told you about my cousin, Justin? Well, this is him." Brian patted Justin on the head. "So if you see him around the theater, don't call the cops, okay?"

Irene laughed. She wore bright scarlet lipstick and had a lot of very white teeth. "I'd never call the cops on a cutie like him! How old are you, Justin darling?"

The woman was standing very close. Justin could smell her strong, flowery perfume and face powder. The woman slipped her arm around his waist and he almost dropped his plate of meatballs. "I'm... ah... I just turned 19."

"19!" she exclaimed. "A mere babe in arms! Do you have a girlfriend, darling? Or doesn't your Mama let you out at night?"

"I... I don't have a girlfriend -- yet," Justin stammered.

"Leave the kid alone, Irene," Brian said. "I promised his mother I'd bring him home in one piece!"

"It never hurts to try," said Irene, gaving the boy a wink. "I've already tried to vamp your cousin, but he won't give me a tumble. If you want to come to my room and look at my scrapbooks, just whistle."

"No, thank you, ma'am," Justin gulped. "I don't think I better."

"Ma'am!" Irene hooted. "He called me ma'am! Talk about feeling old! I better stick to the stagehands, what do you say, Bri?"

"I think that would be a good idea, Irene. Come along, Justin," said Brian, steering him over to the bar. "Let's get you a drink."

"Brian," Justin whispered. "That woman -- she squeezed my ass!"

"She has very good taste," Brian whispered back. "It's quite a juicy ass, if I do say so myself. Irene is a nymphomaniac. If she didn't squeeze your ass I'd think she must not be feeling well tonight." Brian poured Justin a gin and tonic, heavy on the tonic. "Sip this slowly and try not to get tipsy. Hey, Daniel!"

A tall, thin man in a black turtleneck sweater came over. Justin was shocked to see that he was wearing eye make-up. Not a lot, but enough to be obvious up close.

"Brian, my beauty, you called?" he said, holding out a languid hand. "This is the cousin you told me about? The art student?"

"Yes. Justin, this is Daniel Covington. He's our set designer. He said it would be all right if you hung around backstage and watched them working on the set."

"As long as you don't get in the way," Daniel added. "We don't want anyone underfoot."

"Oh, I won't, sir." Justin couldn't stop staring at the man. He really was wearing make-up! Even in the Village Justin had never seen a man wearing eyeliner!

"If you're interested, I'll show you some of my sketches for the set. We'll be making a few changes before we go into New York. Melvin detests the wallpaper in the salon set. But what does he know about design?"

"I don't know," said Justin. "But if he's the director..."

"Melvin's taste is pure Podunk!" Daniel snapped. "But you're right, young man -- he is the director. Therefore, it must be changed." Daniel sighed melodramatically.

"Hello, Brian." They turned to see their host, Brent Pearson, reaching for a martini. "Excuse me while I get myself a drink."

 

 

"Brent," said Brian. "This is my cousin, Justin."

"I loved the play tonight, Mr. Pearson." Justin thought Brent was very handsome, with his wavy dark hair and sexy gaze, but he looked much older than he did on stage. Justin could see the deep lines around his eyes and the slackness of the skin of his neck and jawline. Brent claimed to be 37, but Brian confided that he was at least 45. "You were great!"

Brent bolted down the martini and smacked his lips. "Thanks. I'm getting there."

"Is this party for someone's birthday or something?" Justin asked as he watched the guests dancing, drinking, and laughing very loudly.

"Nope," said Brent. "Just a party. We have one almost every weekend back in Hollywood, so I thought it was time to blow off a little steam. But if you want something to celebrate, Brian will tell you it's in honor of me finally learning all my lines!"

"Well, you were on book until right before we opened here," Brian pointed out.

"Bullshit!" said Brent. "I was on book until two days ago! All that fucking dialogue to memorize! Jesus! But tonight I only screwed up a couple of times."

"I didn't notice anything," said Justin. "I thought everyone was fine."

"The audience isn't supposed to notice," said Brent. "But whenever I go up on a line, I start sweating bullets."

"So do I," Brian admitted. "Sometimes I have dreams that I can't remember my lines. That's the actor's typical nightmare."

"Listen, I hate to interrupt, but I need to speak to Brian for a few minutes," said Brent. "Understudy stuff."

"Sure." Brian put down his scotch. "Can you take care of yourself for a while, Justin?"

Justin nodded. "I'll be fine."

Brian followed Brent into the bedroom. He switched on the light and they saw two people -- the young actress who played the maid and Melvin's assistant director -- making out on the bed.

"All right you two! Scram!" Brent ordered. "This isn't a public park!"

The pair rolled off the bed and began straightening their clothes. "Sorry, Mr. Pearson! So sorry!" The assistant director grabbed the girl's hand and they scurried out the door, slamming it behind them.

Brent sat down on the bed and opened the drawer of the nightstand. "Didn't you get my note? You never got back to me."

"Yes, but my cousin was arriving today," said Brian. "I told you that before."

"I forgot." Brent took out a small wooden box and opened it. Inside were three rolled joints. "Have some reefer?"

"Why not?" Brian sat next to him on the bed while Brent lit the joint and inhaled deeply. Then he passed it to Brian, who did the same. "Where did you get the tea in New Haven?"

"I have my sources," said Brent. "This isn't great, but it'll do. The really good stuff is Mexican. I got a guy who brings it up from Acapulco. One joint is better than a triple whiskey."

Brian took another puff of the reefer. "Just don't do it before the show. That'll really fuck up your concentration. By the way, have you thought about what I said about the Actors Studio?"

"I thought about it," said Brent, leaning back against a pillow. "I don't think it's for me."

"It's for anyone who wants to be a good actor," Brian replied. Brent was a stubborn son of a bitch.

"My fans don't give a shit whether I'm a good actor or not. You know that." Brent frowned as the joint went out. He picked up his gold-plated Zippo and relit it. "They want to see me in a nice tuxedo, romancing a beautiful woman. That's all they care about."

Brian gazed at the man, trying to see inside him. "But what do you care about?"

Brent shrugged. "Getting paid. Getting my name in the paper. Getting laid. And not necessarily in that order. Speaking of which..." Brent glanced at Brian slyly. "Justin -- your cousin, huh?"

"What about him?" Brian said coolly.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Bri." Brent handed him the joint. "That kid is a little too light in the loafers to pass. I wouldn't be seen around with him too much. A fairy like that might cause people to gossip."

"Funny that you, of all people, should talk about fairies," said Brian. "Especially since I've had my fairy dick up your fairy ass more than once -- and my fairy dick in your fairy mouth even more times."

"And why would anyone believe that?" said Brent, unconcerned. "I'm married to the one of the sexiest women in Hollywood, Jacquie Newsome. When you have a woman with tits that big, no one questions your manhood -- and I mean no one! If I were you I'd trade the little blond for another kind of blonde -- one without a cock. That'll be better for your career than all those sessions at the Actors Studio. Because I don't care if you can act the pants off Sir Laurence Olivier, if you're a queer, you can kiss your career goodbye!"

Brian stood up. "Thanks for the advice, Brent."

"Don't be mad, Bri. Come on! Stay a little longer," Brent urged. "I'll lock the door. No one will miss us."

Brian looked evenly at Brent."Justin is waiting for me."

"Ditch the kid," said Brent. "That's my advice. Take it from one who knows." He stood and put his arms around Brian. "You could go all the way, Bri. But you have to be smart. One slip up and you're dead in this business. It almost happened to me."

Brian knew the story. Brent had been caught in a raid on a queer bar in Venice Beach. He hadn't been doing anything, just drinking with some pals, but just being there was have been enough to get him thrown in the slammer. Luckily, he called the studio and they paid off the cops. But in turn the studio head told him to get married pronto -- and that his film career would be on hold until he shaped up. Although he hadn't wanted to go into television -- that was a come-down for a star like Brent Pearson! -- he agreed to star in the studio's new TV project, 'Sunset Beat.' To his surprise, the show had been a hit, but the studio still had Brent on a short leash. They promised that if he did well on Broadway, they'd star him and Jacquie in a the film version of 'Happy Endings.' That was Brent's reward. That is, if he behaved himself.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Brian, pulling away. "At the matinee."

"Don't forget the understudy rehearsal in the morning," said Brent. "I'll be there. I want to see how you're doing in my part."

"I'm doing fine," said Brian, his hand on the doorknob. "I can look out for myself."

"That's what they all think," Brent said to himself after Brian had gone. "Too bad it doesn't work that way."


	32. Chapter 32

  
Author's notes: Rehearsal.  


* * *

March 1958.

 

"You sit in the back," said Brian. "I don't think Melvin will mind you sitting in on the understudy rehearsal, but it always helps to lay low, you know what I mean?"

Justin nodded. "I know what you mean. I'll try not to get in the way."

"Okay," said Brian. He touched Justin's shoulder and his hand lingered there. "I better get backstage. Afterwards we'll get some lunch before the matinee. Do you want to sit through the play again?"

"Sure," said Justin.

"But you saw it last night. And we have to do it again tonight."

"I don't care," said Justin. "I didn't come up here to sit in the hotel room. I don't mind seeing the play. I want to see how it's different every time."

"Oh, it'll be different all right!" Brian snorted. "The crazy playwright gave us some new lines last night and Melvin wants us to try them out this afternoon. Brent is going to be screwed -- he just got the old lines memorized and now they want to change them. But that's show biz!"

"You'll do great," Justin beamed. "You always do great!"

"Spoken like a true 'cousin'!" Brian shooed him away. "Go and find a seat. Tomorrow is Sunday and we have the whole day off."

"I can hardly wait!"

Justin watched until Brian disappeared, on his way backstage. Then he slipped into the auditorium.

The Shubert was a big, old theater with a slightly musty smell. He noted the worn velvet seats, the heavy crimson curtain, and the ornate ceiling. The place felt like it was full of history, full of ghosts. So many plays, so many actors had passed through this stage. Some were hits and some were flops -- probably more were flops, that was the way it went in the theater -- but Justin hoped 'Happy Endings' had exactly that -- a happy ending for Brian's career.

Justin closed his eyes and thought about the play. Wished it well. Wished that the people who sat in these seats would like it. And especially that they would like Brian.

Not that he had anything against Brent Pearson. He seemed like an okay guy. But he was already a star. He already had fame and fortune and a movie star wife. It would only take a simple spell. A Confusion spell. Or a Tripping spell. Something small that wouldn't really hurt the man, but would sideline him for a while. Long enough for Brian to get his chance. Long enough for Brian to become a star. And then...

And then what?

Justin stopped in the aisle. What would happen when Brian was a star? He hadn't considered that. He'd be famous. Surrounded by people all the time. Maybe he'd even go to Hollywood.

Away from New York.

Away from Justin.

Maybe being a star wasn't the right thing for Brian. At least not yet.

And Brian wouldn't approve of Justin doing anything to Brent. That is if he were to find out that Justin had done something. Find out that Justin was...

How could he tell Brian such a thing? He'd never believe it! Never in a million years!

He thought of something Nicky had told him about Gillian. That she could make things happen that no one would ever believe. That she had a Power that could make them all rich beyond their wildest dreams. She could find treasure. Or fix horse races. Or manipulate the Stock Market -- if she wanted to. But she didn't. She wouldn't even think of it.

"She's afraid," Nicky had said. "Afraid of the repercussions."

The repercussions. Nicky meant the Law of Threefold Return. That in magic anything you do will come back at you three times. Or in three different ways. Both the good and the ill will come back to you, either to bless you or bite you in the ass.

If Justin did something to Brent, then something might recoil on him. Or on Brian.

Justin closed his eyes again and thought only good thoughts. Reached out with his mind and cast only good luck over the theater. And over all the actors -- Brent included.

That's the way Brian would want it. He'd want to be an actor on his own terms and not through anything Justin did.

This is hard, thought Justin. It seems so easy to make things happen. But it's difficult to know when not to do something. That's the lesson Gillian had been trying to teach him, but only now was he beginning to understand what it really meant.

Two men came down the aisle and sat two rows in front of him. He sank down in the his seat, trying to look inconspicuous, but they were too engrossed in their own conversation to notice him. Hearing their voices, Justin realized they were Melvin Sauer, the director, and Brent Pearson.

"That goddamn Phil would give me more fucking lines!" said Brent. "That scene was fine the way it was! Why does he have to change it?"

"It wasn't working," said Melvin flatly. "We all agreed -- me and Phil and Garson and Pender." Justin recognized those last two names as the producers of 'Happy Endings.' "The changes make it clearer."

"But..."

"Just learn the lines, Brent," said Melvin. "Believe me, it makes the scene better."

"If this was a movie, I'd call the head of the studio and tell him to stuff it!" Brent bitched.

"No you wouldn't," said Melvin. "And you won't do that now, either, if you want this show to be a hit. And you need it to be a hit, Brent."

"Yeah, I know," Brent said glumly. "I need a fucking hit."

"I'm surprised you wanted to come to the understudy rehearsal," said Melvin. "You could be back at the hotel, getting your beauty sleep before the matinee."

"I wanted to see how things were coming along."

Melvin laughed. "You mean you wanted to see how Kinney is doing in your part."

"I'm interested in what he's doing," said Brent.

"So you can steal bits from him?"

"You mean so I can see if he's stealing bits from me!" Brent retorted.

"He's supposed to be replicating your interpretation of the role," said Melvin. "That's what an understudy does. The star isn't supposed to be sneaking around, watching his understudy to get tips on how to play his own part!"

"I'm not sneaking around," said Brent. "I told him I'd be here, watching."

"He's good," said Melvin. "If you weren't Brent Pearson, he'd be playing that part every night -- and everyone in the cast knows it."

"Is that supposed to make me feel good?" said Brent. "You want me to get so pissed off that I have him fired? Because all I have to do is call Garson and Pender and they'll fire his ass before the understudy rehearsal is finished!"

"Don't cut off your nose to spite your face, Brent," said Melvin. "We need Kinney. And you need him. You need a hot young stud breathing down your neck. It keeps you working. Keeps you trying. You know how good he is and that makes you want to be good, too. Or it should."

"Fuck you," Brent said almost too quietly for Justin to hear. "And fuck Kinney, too!"

Melvin made a dismissive noise. "I thought you already did. Or is he the one fucking you? I hear he's got a nine inch cock. They say R.J. Rosenblum is so addicted to it that he wanted the kid to move in with him. But Kinney gave him the gate. He's got a mind of his own, that boy."

"That's not funny, Mel," said Brent. "Now shut up -- the play is starting."

The curtain opened and Justin held his breath. His heart was pounding to see Brian in the play, but his head was also reeling from what he'd heard.

Brian and Brent Pearson.

And it was true. He knew it had to be. Brent had as much as admitted it.

So what? Brian was a free man. He didn't owe Justin anything. They liked each other. They were having fun. A good time. That's all it was.

Warlocks didn't fall in love. So what did it matter to Justin?

The play began. Two minutes in, Brian came on stage in the lead role. He was wearing street clothes -- they all were for the rehearsal -- but Justin could picture him in the tuxedo that the character wore throughout the play. Brian looked wonderful -- tall and beautiful, his hair shining like bronze under the bright stage lights.

And he was good. Melvin had been right -- Brian was better than Brent. More believable in the part. Brent was too old and too jaded to play the idealistic young society lawyer, Reynolds Roslin. Brent had seemed like he was walking through the play, speaking lines that had no meaning. But Brian gave them meaning. He made the rather prosaic words seem natural.

And Brian also used his entire body. He moved with a slightly awkward lurch, like he hadn't quite grown into his tall body. That gave Reynolds Roslin a vulnerable, boyish quality that Brent Pearson could never duplicate. And Brian's face was always alive -- his eyebrows moving, his mouth twitching, on the verge of laughter, his eyes shining. Justin wished he were up closer, in the front row, to see Brian's face better. Then he imagined it in a movie theater, filling a large screen. Those eyes, those lips, as large across as the wall of a building.

Justin closed his eyes and knew he was seeing the future -- Brian's future. Seeing Brian's Fate in his mind's eye.

And something inside gave his heart a sharp jab. So sharp he almost gasped out loud.


	33. Chapter 33

March 1958.

 

After the evening performance, Justin waited for Brian outside the theater.

He watched the people leaving, stopping to light cigarettes, buttoning up their coats, shoving their Playbills into their pockets, couples huddling together, deciding where to go for a drink after the show.

And Justin was a part of it. He hugged himself, thinking about Brian -- his lover -- on the stage. He'd been better at the matinee than on Friday night, and even better tonight. More confident. More secure in what he was doing. The part of the younger brother seemed barely able to contain him -- it was like he was jumping out at the audience and demanding attention. Next to Brian, Brent Pearson looked pale and tired, older than his years. Yet Justin could see that Brent was trying, even when he fumbled his lines. Melvin had been right -- Brent was picking up Brian's pieces of business, like the way he held a cigarette or picked up a glass, taking his cues from Brian instead of the other way around. But with Brent it didn't seem natural. He was performing and not living the role on stage. Even Justin could see that clearly.

But the audience didn't seem to care. They applauded loudly when Brent came on stage, they laughed in all the right places, and at the end they gave the cast three curtain calls. The play wasn't literature, but it was entertaining and that was all that mattered. Justin was certain it would be a hit.

Brian came out of the theater, wrapping his long scarf around his neck. The March wind still had some winter bite and the last thing Brian needed was to get a chill.

"Hey, brat," Brian said, giving Justin's shoulder a light punch. "What did you think?"

"It's better with the new lines," he replied, feeling like an insider. "Brent was having trouble in the first act."

"I know." Brian rolled his eyes. "He'll get it down. But the audience doesn't give a shit. He's a movie star and that's all they care about. He could come on stage dead drunk and they'd still think he was great."

Justin frowned. "You're kidding, right? Brent wouldn't get drunk before a show -- would he?"

"It's happened," Brian shrugged. "Not to Brent -- at least not yet. The guy drinks like a fish, but so do most actors. So far he waits until after the show. He'll probably tie one on tonight and then spend all of Sunday sleeping it off. But what the hell? He's the star. He can get away with it. I was in this play in summer stock with a guy who used to be big in radio. He'd belt down a fifth of bourbon every night, starting while he was putting on his make-up. You could smell it on him a mile away! Some nights he'd be shaky on his feet, but he always got his lines out. Then after the play was over he'd pass out in his dressing room. It was pathetic!"

"How come he didn't get fired?" Justin marvelled.

"Because he was the only name in the cast," Brian explained. "He was a ridiculous old drunk, but he was still the star. They needed him to draw people in. Promise that you'll shoot me if I ever get like that, okay?"

"I'd never shoot you, no matter what," said Justin. "But you'll never get like that. You aren't pathetic."

"Knock wood," said Brian. "So where should we go? Irene is having a party in her room, but it'll mainly be females on the make."

Justin thought of the woman squeezing his ass. "Can we skip that one?"

"Yeah, we can." They started walking down College Street. "There's one place we could go. But..."

"But what?"

"It's a little dicey," said Brian, hesitating. "But I've been there a couple of times. I mean... if you want to go."

"What is it?" Justin asked.

"It's a gay bar."

Justin had never been to a gay bar before, at least not an outsider one. He and Ethan had gone to the warlock bar, Mumbo Jumbo, where Nicky liked to hang out, but they left when a couple of creepy old warlocks tried to pick them up.

"Sure," said Justin. "As long as I'm with you it'll be all right. I mean, if you think it's safe."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Nothing in life worth doing is ever 'safe,' kid, but we won't get arrested or anything. They can't risk raiding this place. It's full of Yale students with rich and powerful parents. They don't want to throw the son of a senator or of the Ambassador to West Buttfuckland in the clink. So, what do you think?"

"What's the name of the place?"

Brian thought for a moment. "I don't know. I don't think it has a name. Most places like that don't."

"Let's go," said Justin, up for an adventure. He was curious about this bar with no name.

They walked a couple of blocks. The streets were darker than around the theater, with a number of taverns marked by neon signs. But Brian headed for a nondescript storefront, its window painted black. A hulking man with tattooed arms blocked the entrance. He looked Brian up and down, then Justin. He grunted and opened the door, allowing them in.

The place was packed on a Saturday night. Music played on a tinny jukebox, Johnny Ray singing some sob song. As they hung up their coats, Justin looked across the room. He could see a pool table in the far corner, hear the clicking of the balls. Older men were hunkered down at the bar, while younger ones stood in knots around a small dance floor, holding beer bottles and watching a few male couples dancing closely.

"What can I get for you, beautiful?" said the bartender, a tall, butch number with a crewcut. Justin thought he looked more like a foundry worker than someone who'd work in a queer bar.

"Two beers," said Brian, putting a dollar on the bar.

The bartender eyed Justin. "How old is the kid?"

"I'm 19," Justin stated. He stood in his toes, trying to look taller.

The man grimaced. "You sure? I don't want any trouble."

"Do you card all the underage hustlers who come in here?" Brian snorted. "Or the Yale students? Come on, man! Don't give my boyfriend any grief!"

Justin stared at Brian. Boyfriend. He slipped his hand into Brian's. "I'll show you my driver's license if you want me to."

"Forget it," said the bartender. He flipped the tops off two bottles and placed them on the counter.

"Thanks." Brian handed Justin one bottle and took the other. "Let's find a place to lean and watch the action."

Brian guided Justin through the crowd. Some of the men looked away, as if they were afraid to meet someone else's eye, while others were openly admiring. One well-dressed young man, who looked liked a prep student, reached out and touched Brian's arm, beckoning him. Then he looked at Justin and nodded to him, too.

"Maybe another time," Brian said as they moved past. He grasped Justin's hand tighter. They came to rest near the pool table. Justin was surprised to see Edgar Phillips-Smythe, the actor who played Brian's grandfather, with a cue in his hand.

"Dear boy!" said Edgar. "Fancy a game?"

"Only if you're losing," Brian laughed.

"I'm just beginning," said the older man. "This delightful young chap is trouncing me most frightfully." Edgar indicated a sullen boy in a black leather jacket who had obviously seen 'The Wild One' too many times.

"Are they playing for money?" Justin whispered.

"I think they're playing for the kid's price," said Brian. "He's winning now, but watch. Old Edgar is an expert. He's letting the kid win a few, then he'll pounce on him like a shark on a sardine."

Sure enough, as they continued shooting, everything turned around and Edgar was the one doing the trouncing. In the end, Edgar pocketed a handful of bills. "Come long, my dear boy," he said to the kid. "You still owe me $20, which I shall take out in trade, as they say in the vernacular." He turned to Brian and Justin. "Good night, my dears. I shall see you in church tomorrow, no doubt."

"No doubt," Brian laughed. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Eddie!"

"You wanna play?" asked a burly man who picked up a cue.

"No thanks," said Brian. He set down his empty beer bottle. "Come on, Justin. Let's dance." And he pulled Justin towards the small dance floor.

"I... I've never danced with a guy before," said Justin. He had taken dancing lessons, like all the children of the people at his parents' country club, but he'd never imagined he'd ever be dancing with a man. "I don't know how."

"It shouldn't be too hard. Just do everything I do, except backwards." An old Sinatra song came on, slow and sad. "This is a good one. Come here." Brian took Justin in his arms. Justin settled against Brian's tall body, letting his lover take over. Moving with Brian. Moving with the yearning music. "See? It's easy."

"All, or nothing at all,  
Half a love, never appealed to me.  
If your heart never could yield to me,  
Then I'd rather have nothing at all.

All, or nothing at all,  
If it's love, there is no in-between,  
Why begin, then cry for something that might have been?  
No, I'd rather have nothing at all.

But please don't bring your lips so close to my cheek,  
Don't smile or I'll be lost beyond recall.  
The kiss in your eyes, the touch of your hand, makes me weak,  
And my heart may go dizzy and fall.

And if I fell under the spell of your call,  
I would be caught in the undertow.  
So you see, I've got to say no, no --  
All, or nothing at all."

Justin shut his eyes as they danced.

He knew that he couldn't feel love. He'd been told so again and again.

Or could he? Because when he was with Brian he felt different than he'd ever felt before in his life. Happy. Euphoric. Like he was drunk, yet his head was clear. Clearer than it had ever been. His senses drank in every detail. The dimness of the bar. The other dancers brushing against them. The bland faces of the men watching them. Brian's erection nudging him slightly. Brian's left hand on his shoulder, his right on the small of his back. Brian's warm breath on his cheek, the smell of the beer, of Brian's spicy cologne.

Maybe this wasn't love, but it was some kind of happiness.

And he never wanted it to end.


	34. Chapter 34

  
Author's notes: On the way back...  


* * *

March 1958.

 

Brian and Justin danced a few more songs, then stopped to have another beer.

"I'm beat," said Brian, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "It's been a long day."

"I'll say," Justin agreed. "You did the play three times today!"

"It's not that great of a play to do so many times," said Brian. He leaned closer to Justin's ear. "But I still have enough energy to fuck your ass until you beg for mercy."

"But what if I never beg for mercy?" Justin asked playfully. "What if I keep begging you for more?"

"Well," Brian shrugged. "I aim to please."

Justin took a sip of his beer. He'd been pondering something while they danced. He didn't want to put Brian on the spot, but he also wanted to know. "Brian, can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He tipped the bottle against his lips. Justin watched the movement of the muscles of his throat as the liquid went down. "What do you want to ask?"

Here goes, thought Justin. "Did you mean what you said?"

"Huh?"

"I want to know if you meant what you said to the bartender?" Justin repeated.

"You mean, 'Give me two more beers'? Yeah, I meant it, brat." Brian glanced at Justin and saw the serious look on his face. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You said I was your boyfriend," Justin stated.

Brian sighed. "Did I say that?"

"When we first came in here," said Justin. "When the guy asked how old I was. Never mind. Forget it. I know you didn't really mean it."

Brian picked at the paper label on the bottle. Boyfriend. What the hell did that mean, anyway? And why was it so important to the kid? Just like 'lover' had been important to R.J., or 'husband' to Lindsay. They were only words, after all. Stupid, fucking words!

Justin was so innocent. So open. Yeah, it meant something to him. Love and all that shit. He didn't understand that it only meant hurting someone when it ended. Feeling empty and betrayed. He'd watched his parents savage each other for years, hating each other and hating him and his sister. They must have been in love at one time. Or thought they were in love. But it all went wrong. Or it was fucked up right from the start!

But Justin...

Brian thought about the way he'd felt that first night they fucked. Like the two of them were floating in mid-air, surrounded by a warm, blue light that kept the rest of the world outside. And he'd felt that every time they made love. Nothing like that had ever happened with R.J., or Lindsay, or Brent Pearson, and any of the dozens of guys he'd had sex with over the years. Dozens -- hell, it was probably hundreds by now! Brian felt slightly sick, thinking about all those nameless, faceless guys. All that meaningless sex with all those meaningless guys! And how many of them had said 'I love you' in the heat of passion? A lot of them. Too many of them. Fucking meaningless words! Meaningless actions. Meaningless...

Except...

He slipped his arm around the kid's shoulders. "Sure. Of course I meant it."

Justin's face lit up like the sun. "Really?"

"Listen, kid," Brian said, looking away. "I'm an actor, not a writer. I'm not great with my own feelings and my own words. That's why I prefer playing characters. Pretending to be other people. Because I'm not all that happy with myself most of the time."

"But you're great, Brian!" Justin insisted.

"No," Brian corrected. "I'm not. I'm messed up in a big way. Acting is one way that I don't have to be me. Because I don't know who 'me' is. I mean, I guess I'm a queer, but I can't be -- not if I want to have a career. I have a family, but I don't feel any connection to them. And I know I have feelings, but they're buried so fucking deep inside that most of the time all I feel is a kind of numbed hurt." Brian paused. He could feel that hurt right now more than the numbness. And it made him very uncomfortable. "Except..."

"Except?"

"Except when I'm on stage," Brian admitted. "When I'm acting. When I can feel the audience out in the darkness, watching me. And..." He hesitated again. "And when I'm with you. Then I feel at peace. Like I'm safe. At least for a little while."

Justin swallowed hard. "Do you really only feel that way when you're with me?"

Brian nodded. "I don't understand it, but yes."

Justin moved closer to his lover. "Let's go back to the hotel."

Brian smiled. "Don't you want to dance some more? Or play a little pool?"

"No," said Justin. "I want to be in bed with you. Where we'll both be safe."

"Okay."

They retrieved their coats and walked out into the cold night.

"I'm looking forward to tomorrow," said Brian. "No performance, no rehearsal, no nothing!"

"And on Monday I have to go back to New York." Justin had been thinking about that all evening. Their time together was so short.

"Maybe you could stay another day and go back on Tuesday? Tell your cousin that... that the trains went on strike!"

Justin laughed. "Or the engineer got sick!"

"Or you got locked in the theater and we couldn't find the key!"

Justin took Brian's hand. "I'll just call Queenie and tell her I'm staying another day. She won't question it. By the time Gillian realizes I'm not there, it'll be too late!"

"Sounds like a good plan." Brian kissed Justin, forgetting for a moment where they were -- a public street.

"Look what we got here," said a voice. "A couple of pansies."

Brian and Justin looked up to see two men blocking the sidewalk. They were dressed in black peacoats and knit caps, like dockworkers.

"Yeah," said the other guy. "Queers. Musta been a busy night at that faggot bar."

The first guy sneered. "Hey, Sid -- you wanna kick some pansy ass?"

The second guy grinned. "Sounds like fun."

Brian stared down the two men. "Justin," he said evenly. "Get behind me."

"No!" Justin cried. "I can fight, too!"

Brian pushed himself in front of the boy. "Do what the fuck I tell you to do! Now!"

"I'm not afraid!" Justin said defiantly.

"That pansy isn't afraid!" the first man scoffed. "You know what? I think he likes me!"

"Maybe he wants to suck your prick," said the second man.

"I think they both want to suck our pricks." The first man took a step forward. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, queer? How'd you like a real man for a change?"

"I've had plenty of real men," said Brian, holding himself steady. "And you don't look like any of them. You look like a closet case who gets off on beating up fags because he's afraid he likes cock too much. You'd probably really like to suck mine, wouldn't you?"

The man's face went red. "You son of a bitch! I'm gonna beat you to a pulp!"

"Justin! Run!" Brian yelled. He turned and shoved Justin in the opposite direction. "Now!"

"No!" Justin shouted. He tried to move towards Brian, but the pavement was slick and he felt himself falling.

The two men rushed Brian, who stood his ground, bracing himself for their assault.

Justin sat up and, without thinking, raised his arms over his head, his fists clenched. He heard himself chanting words that didn't make any sense. He realized they were words from Gillian's book, but not from the pages she had taught him. This was a spell of Power, coming from deep within him. Power boiling up and pouring out of him. It was only a moment, but that moment seemed drawn out, as if time had slowed. The cold March wind whipped up around them in a torrent and a red light like fire swept across the sidewalk.

Brian fell backwards as he heard the two men scream. Then an odor like sulfur and a swirl of smoke -- and the men were lying on the pavement.

"Brian! Are you all right?" Justin crawled to his lover's side.

"Wh...what the fuck happened?" Brian was stunned. The wind was knocked out of him and he could still feel the heat from whatever had happened to the two men.

"I... I can't tell you." Justin wrapped his arms around Brian. "But it's okay!"

"Those men -- are they dead?" Brian stared at the motionless forms.

"I don't think so," said Justin. "I didn't want to kill them. I only wanted to stop them." He stood up and then helped Brian to his feet.

"You?" Brian's head was spinning. "You did that? How?"

"I just did." Justin's voice was faint. "Don't ask me to explain!"

Brian took Justin by the shoulders and shook him. "What just happened here? Tell me! What did you do?"

"I stopped them!" said Justin, holding his head high. "They were going to hurt you -- so I stopped them!"

"What the fuck?" Brian let go of his lover and stepped back, away from him. "What are you? Tell me!"

Justin leveled his blue eyes at Brian. He knew that one day he'd have to tell the truth, but not yet. Not so soon. And he hadn't wanted it to be like this!

"I didn't want to tell you, but now I have to, Brian. The truth is that I have... certain Powers. Because I'm... a witch."

Brian's face was all disbelief. "A... a what?"

"A witch," Justin repeated. And then he said it louder and with determination. "I'm a witch. And that's the truth."


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin tells Brian what he is: a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the further chapters of "Bell, Book & Candle" that did not appear on the BJFic site.

Brian almost ran back to the hotel, with Justin struggling to catch up.

“Brian!” he cried. “Wait! Slow down!”

In front of the Taft Hotel Brian stopped. With shaking hands he lit a cigarette. 

Justin saw him waiting and slowed his pace. This was it, he thought, the real moment of truth.

“Those men.” Brian asked. “Are they...?”

“They’re alive,” said Justin. “I... I checked. When they wake up I don’t know how much they’ll remember, but I doubt they’ll go to the cops. Who would believe them?”

“Yeah,” said Brian, turning away. “Who would believe them?”

They walked into the hotel and Brian got his key at the desk.

“I heard the play is going well, Mr. Kinney,” said the night clerk. 

“Yes, it is,” Brian replied.

“And is your cousin having a nice stay?”

“Very nice,” Brian said shortly. “Good night.”

They rode up in the elevator in silence, then went into the room. Brian began to get undressed. 

Justin thought he’d scream if Brian didn’t speak to him. “Brian? Brian?”

“What?” He took off his shirt and hung it up in the tiny closet.

“I’m sorry,” Justin whispered. “But I couldn’t tell you! How could I? What could I say?”

“I don’t know.” Brian wouldn’t – couldn’t – look at him. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what you are!”

“I’m the same as I was this afternoon!” Justin said. “The same as I was last night! And last month! I’m still Justin. And you’re still Brian!”

Brian shook his head. “You better sleep in the rollaway. Tomorrow I’ll make certain that you get to the station in time for the train to New York. I’ll have the desk clerk call for a taxi.”

Justin’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. “You... you want me to leave tomorrow?”

“I think it’s best that you go.” Brian carefully hung up his trousers. He couldn’t afford to have them pressed every day the way Brent could.

“I’m the same person!” Justin repeated. “I haven’t changed!”

Brian whirled around and glared. “If you can do that to those men... what else can you do?”

“I... I don’t know,” Justin admitted. “I didn’t know I could do that! It just happened! They were going to hurt you – and I couldn’t let them hurt you! But I didn’t have any control over it!”

“What could you do to me?” Brian asked. “If you get mad at me are you going to knock me down with a fucking flash of smoke and light?”

“No!” Justin insisted. “I could never hurt you, no matter what! Listen to me – witchcraft isn’t about hurting people! It’s just... something I am. Like being blond. Or being gay. I was born this way! It’s part of my family. Gillian and Queenie and Nicky – and my mother and grandmother, too. We’re all witches. Well, technically I’m a warlock, but it’s the same thing.”

Brian frowned. “Your cousin and everyone else, too?”

“Yes,” said Justin. “And a lot of people in the Village. And in other places. In Salem. And in California. And England. There are witches everywhere.”

Brian tossed his dirty socks into his laundry bag with an angry force. “So that stupid book that’s such a best seller is true? That ‘Magic in Mexico’?”

“Some of it,” said Justin. “Gillian says it’s mostly nonsense because they told Sidney Retlich a bunch of lies, but the basic stuff is true. We can do... things. Things that outsiders can’t do. I mean, some witches can. But I’m just learning.”

“So, you curse people and blast them and cast spells and shit?” said Brian, half scornfully and half fearfully.

“I’ve never cursed anyone in my life!” Justin retorted. “The only things Gillian has let me do so far are light matches and open locks and mix herbs. She says that’s all I’m ready for.”

“Apparently you’re a lot farther advanced in witch school than your cousin realizes,” Brian snorted. “Ask those two jerks lying on the sidewalk!”

“They hated us! They were going to hurt us, Brian,” said Justin. “Maybe even kill us. Should I have just let it happen?”

“I was dealing with it!” Brian’s voice rose. “I was protecting you!”

“Is this about me and my Power – or about you and your ego?” Justin asked. “I did what I had to do! If you can’t deal with that, it’s not my problem – it’s yours.”

“I need to get some sleep. I’m exhausted.” Brian pulled off his tee shirt and jockey shorts, tossed them on the chair, and got into bed. “Turn out the light when you’re ready.”

Justin slowly took off his clothes and turned off the lights. He climbed into the rollaway bed. His eyes felt strange. Hot and itchy. He sniffed and wiped at them with the back of his hand.

“It’s no use crying,” said Brian’s voice in the darkness. “Tears are bullshit.”

“I’m not crying,” said Justin. “I can’t cry. Witches can’t shed tears. Or blush. Or... or fall in love. We can’t.”

“Good thing,” said Brian. “All of those things are fucked up. I refuse to do any of them. When I was a kid one of the older boys used to pick on me. He’d push me and hit me and knock me down, trying to make me cry. But I never did. Never! And love? You already know how I feel about that.”

Justin got out of the rollaway and climbed on top of the bed. “I understand what you mean, Brian. But please don’t push me away!”

The room was very still. Justin could hear Brian’s shallow breathing. Hear his own heart beating wildly.

“This is too much for me to grasp,” Brian said finally. “If you had told me this before, I wouldn’t have believed it. But after seeing... what I saw... It’s too much, Justin! Too fucking much!”

“If you never want to see me again, I’ll understand,” Justin whispered. “But let me stay one more night. Let’s make love one more time. That’s all I ask. If you still want me to go in the morning, then I will. And I promise never to bother you again.”

Justin held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“Tell me one thing,” said Brian. “Did you do all this? Did you make me... feel whatever this is I’m feeling? Is that what it is? Some kind of magic spell?”

“If it is, it’s nothing I’m doing,” said Justin. “Because I feel it, too. And I don’t have any control over it. Maybe it is magic, but it’s not a spell. It’s something else. Something happening to both of us.”

Brian sighed and pulled back the bedclothes. “It’s cold. Get in or you’ll freeze your balls off.”

Justin got under the covers. Brian’s body was warm and welcoming. And Brian took him wordlessly, afraid to utter the words he was thinking. But Justin didn’t mind. It was as if he could hear all of Brian’s thoughts and Brian could hear all of his. They didn’t need meaningless words. 

They didn’t need anything.

Except each other, wrapped in a blue light only they could see.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving New Haven.

“Brian.” Justin gave his lover a prod. “Get up. I have to be at the train station in an hour.”

“Fuck the train station!” Brian rolled over. “You can leave tomorrow.”

“That’s what you said yesterday. I have to leave today or Gillian is going to come up here and drag me home. When I talked to Queenie last night she said Gil was fuming that I wasn’t back yet.”

“Damn.” Brian stuck his head out of the bedclothes. “Why won’t everyone leave us the hell alone?”

“We could go and live in a cave somewhere, like on a Greek Island,” Justin suggested. “But then what about your acting career?”

“I could recite Euripides to the seagulls.” Brian sat up and stretched. “We better get dressed. I’ll go with you to the station.”

Justin took a quick shower, then packed his grip while Brian took his. There was a knock on the door and, after hesitating a moment, Justin answered it.

A tall, beautifully dressed man was standing there. He was wearing a brown bespoke British suit and carrying a long black cashmere coat over his arm. He had wavy dark hair, greying at the temples, and piercing blue eyes.

“Where’s Brian?” he asked sharply.

Justin stared at the man. “In the bathroom.”

“I’ll wait.” And he walked past Justin and into the room.

Justin shoved his clothes into the suitcase, one eye on the strange man. He had a good idea who he was, but he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. Maybe he felt that introductions weren’t necessary under the circumstances.

Brian came out of the bathroom, naked and drying his hair with a thin hotel towel.

“R.J.,” he said, stopping in his track. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see the show tonight.” He glanced at Justin. “And to see what you’ve been up to.”

“Did Brent call you?” Brian asked, already knowing the answer.

“He’s concerned about this... situation,” said R.J.

“It’s none of his fucking business!” Brian retorted.

“Anything that concerns this play and its success is his business – and mine, since I’ve invested money in the production,” said R.J. “And it’s your business, too, Brian – or should be, since your career is at stake. Or hadn’t you considered that?”

“Listen,” said Justin. “I’m standing right here. It would be nice if you didn’t discuss me like I’m invisible.”

“That’s exactly what you should be, young man,” R.J. drawled. “Invisible.”

“That’s enough!” said Brian. He walked to the door and opened it. “So long, R.J.”

“I’ve checked into a suite,” he replied evenly. “I’ll be seeing the play tonight. I expect you to have supper with me afterwards, Brian. I’ll meet you backstage. Good afternoon.” 

Brian slammed the door behind his mentor. “Shit!”

“So, I’m Mr. Invisible.” Justin closed and locked his case. “I need to get to the station.”

“Justin,” said Brian, reaching for him. “R.J. is only thinking about my career. It has nothing to do with you – or with us.”

“No, it has everything to do with us,” Justin said sadly. “As long as I’m your ‘cousin’ and not what I really am – your lover – then I’m always going to be invisible.”

“Can’t you say some magic witchy words and really make yourself invisible?” said Brian, only partly joking. “Then we could go anywhere, everywhere, together.”

“If I could, I would.” Justin pulled away and picked up his grip. “Put on your pants. We need to go.”

The doorman hailed them a cab and they rode to the depot in silence. Justin gazed out the window, afraid to say anything. After the disaster of Saturday night, he’d thought it was all over. But then they made love and, if anything, things seemed even more intense between them. They’d spent all Sunday in bed, pausing only to splurge on a room service meal before getting back to the business at hand – screwing their heads off. Monday they got up and went to the local YMCA. Brian worked out – lifting some free weights and doing sit-ups – while Justin mainly watched him. Then they swam laps in the pool, steamed themselves, and went for a walk around the Yale campus before heading back to the room for another round of sex.

Justin had planned to return to New York on Tuesday, but when they woke up that morning they both knew he wasn’t leaving that day. Brian went to another rehearsal and then a performance Tuesday night. After the show there was another impromptu party thrown by one of the actors in a hotel room not much bigger than Brian’s. Justin drank a couple of gin and tonics and danced with Irene – who groped his ass again – while Brian sat in the corner, fending off the obvious attentions of Brent Pearson. Finally, the manager came upstairs and closed the party down. Brian and Justin stumbled back to their little room and fell into bed, letting nature take its queer course.

And now they had reached the station. Justin wasn’t certain when they’d see each other again.

“Our next stop is Philly,” said Brian, reading his mind. “It’s closer than New Haven. You can come down and see how the play is developing.”

“What if your friend is there?”

“R.J.?” Brian grimaced. “He’s a worrywart. Who cares about the visiting cousin of a walk-on-slash-understudy?”

“No one,” answered Justin. “Until that understudy becomes the star.”

“That’s a long away off, brat,” said Brian.

Justin shook his head. “Your friend doesn’t think so. Neither does Brent Pearson.”

“We’ll cross that bridge, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Yeah,” said Justin. “Et cetera.”

They heard the whistle from afar, and a minute later the train rumbled in.

“I’ll be back in the city sooner than you think. They’ll be a cast party at Sardi’s on opening night,” said Brian. “You’ll come, right?”

Justin looked away. “How are you going to explain that your cousin from Dartmouth is in New York?”

“It’s none of their damned business!” Brian rubbed his forehead. “It’s no one’s damned business – except ours!”

“I wish,” Justin whispered. The conductor stepped off the train and unfolded the step for boarding. “I have to go.”

Brian gave him a tentative hug. That was all they could do. No kiss. And none of the words they really wanted to say to each other.

“Have a great show tonight,” said Justin.

“It’s in the bag,” said Brian. “As always.”

Justin picked up his suitcase and climbed onto the train. He sat next to the window and watched Brian standing on the platform in his long camelhair coat, the wind blowing his chestnut hair across his eyes. He raised his hand to wave goodbye just as Brian raised his. And then the train pulled out.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillian has a surprise for Justin.

On the train, Justin tried to read a little. He’d brought his copy of ‘On the Road.’ Even though he’d already read it at least four times, he never got tired of it. But today he found his mind wandering. He’d stop reading and stare out the window for miles, as Connecticut gave way to New York. 

Finally he closed Kerouac and put him away in the bookbag. It was no use pretending – he couldn’t concentrate, not even on Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise. All he could think about was everything that had happened in New Haven. The best moments of his life – and the worst.

So now what? What would happen to him and Brian? Was this the start of a relationship – or the end of something that had never been real to begin with?

He was still pondering those questions when the train arrived in the city. He took the subway down to the Village, but he wasn’t quite ready to go home and face the proverbial music. He was hungry, so he stopped at the Liberty Cafe to have something to eat – and put off facing his cousin Gillian.

“J.!” Ethan waved him over to his table. “Where have you been?”

“Hi, E.” Justin dropped into the chair. “Can I have some of your bread?”

“Sure.” Ethan pushed the bread basket at him. “The special today is lasagna. Hey, Deb! Can we get some more food over here?”

“Keep your shirt on!” Debbie said. “Oh, look who’s here – Sunshine! You want some dinner, hon?”

“Please, Deb.” Justin waited until Debbie had returned to the kitchen, then he grinned at Ethan. “Guess where I was all weekend?”

Ethan frowned. “I don’t know, but wherever it was, your cousin is pissed off. I heard my grandmother talking to some of the other old ladies about it. Something’s cooking, J., and you’re in the middle of it!”

“Crap,” Justin breathed. “I’m going to be screwed!”

“So where the heck were you?” Ethan asked. 

“In Connecticut.” Justin buttered a slice of bread and crammed it into his mouth.

“Visiting your mom?”

“No,” said Justin. “I was in New Haven. Visiting a friend.”

Ethan leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “What friend? Spill it, Taylor!”

Justin smiled slyly. “Brian. I was up in New Haven with Brian.”

Ethan’s mouth fell open. “Brian Kinney? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Justin couldn’t contain himself. “It was amazing! Hold on... here comes Deb.” 

“I hope you’re hungry,” said Debbie, setting down a heaping plate of lasagna. “I brought more bread, too.”

“Thanks, Deb. It looks really good.”

“Yes, Mrs. Novotny,” Ethan agreed. “A great dinner.”

Debbie put her hands on her hips. The boys both looked guilty, but she had no idea about what. “Are you two up to something?”

“What would we be up to?” Ethan said nervously. “J. was just telling me about his weekend.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Debbie. “We missed you around here. Are you coming back to work tomorrow?”

“Of course,” said Justin. “I promise I’ll be here in time for lunch. I have a life class with Professor Shimerov in the morning, but I’ll come over right afterwards.”

“See that you do,” said Debbie. “I’m running a business here, not a charity.”

Ethan watched Debbie go off to wait on a couple of tourists who had wandered into the cafe, then he leaned across the table. “To repeat – are you out of your blessed mind?”

“He was amazing,” Justin said smugly. “We fucked like monkeys all weekend. I was supposed to come home Monday, but he didn’t want me to leave. I think he’s in love with me.”

“He’s a mortal!” Ethan wanted to grab Justin and shake some sense into him. “And he’s straight!”

“Ask my ass if he’s straight,” Justin countered. “He’s not straight, believe me.”

Ethan grimaced. “But he’s got that girlfriend! Lindsay!”

“She’s out of the picture – and I’m in the picture,” said Justin. “This lasagna really is good.”

Ethan couldn’t believe Justin could be so reckless. “Forget the lasagna! What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’m a grown man and I can make my own decisions about my life,” Justin stated.

“You’ve just ruined your Initiation! You know that, don’t you?” said Ethan.

“I don’t care,” said Justin. He felt very calm. He’d made a decision and he knew he wouldn’t change it even if he could. “I ruined my Initiation weeks ago. That’s when I slept with Brian for the first time. And we’ve been doing it as often as we can ever since.”

Ethan put his hands over his eyes, like he didn’t want to see the on-coming crash. “Gillian is going to go nuclear! You have no idea, J.! And I mean you have no fucking idea!”

“So what? Nicky didn’t get Initiated. He told me that Initiation is passé. Why should I let Gil and a bunch of little old ladies dictate what I can and can’t do? It’s my love life – I mean, sex life. It’s none of their business.”

“Gillian has plans for you, J.” said Ethan. “Big plans!”

“Then she’s going to have to change her plans.” Justin continued eating his lasagna.

“I have to get out of here.” Ethan put down some money to pay for his dinner. “I wish I’d never asked what you’ve been up to. If Gillian throws you out on your ear, don’t call me! And whatever you do, don’t mention my name! Don’t tell her that I know anything about this!”

“What’s the matter, E.? Afraid she’ll turn you into a toad?” Justin smirked.

“Shut up!” Ethan replied. “You wouldn’t joke about that stuff if you’d grown up in the community like I did. You wouldn’t joke about what your cousin can and can’t do! And I don’t want to be a part of it! I mean that, J.!”

Justin’s stomach suddenly contracted. “You’re really scared of her, aren’t you, E.?”

Ethan held up his hands. “See these? These are the only thing I care about. This is the way I make my music. If Gillian Holroyd decided to make it so I could never hold a violin again, I might as well kill myself! And that’s no joke!”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Justin insisted.

“You have no idea what she would do.” Ethan put on his coat and scarf. “No idea at all! Bye, J.”

After Ethan hurried out of the cafe, Justin pushed his unfinished dinner away and sat for a while. 

Debbie came by and took his plate. “You look beat, Sunshine. Go home and get some sleep tonight.”

“I will. Thanks, Deb.”

Justin trudged back to Queenie’s building on MacDougal Street. Gillian’s shop was closed and it was dark in Shep Henderson’s apartment. Maybe Gil was out with him on a date. That would be good. Queenie was much easier to deal with alone. And then it would be better to face his cousin tomorrow. Gillian didn’t get as worked up when Queenie was around.

Justin paused at Queenie’s door and repeated the unlocking spell. He opened the door.

Queenie was in the parlor, pouring tea from her old China pot. And Gillian was there, too, on the sofa, her long legs curled underneath her, her bare feet white as bone.

And there was a third person, as well. A man who stood when Justin entered the room. He was tall and broad, an Irish fisherman’s sweater pulled tight across his muscular chest. He had a handsome, but heavy-jawed face, and watchful blue eyes. He held out his hand. “This must be Justin.”

“Yes,” said Gillian, scarcely containing her anger. “This must be.”

“I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you,” said the man, squeezing Justin’s hand intimately. 

“And you are...?” Justin wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. There was no place for him to run.

“This is Professor Benjamin Bruckner,” said Gillian. “He’s going to participate in your Initiation.”

“My... my Initiation?” Justin gulped. He was screwed now!

“Yes,” said Ben. “I’m going to be your first lover. Come and sit next to me, Justin, and we’ll get better acquainted.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and R.J. have a little talk.

“You’re very quiet tonight, Brian,” said R.J. 

“I’m just tired,” Brian replied.

“Don’t you like your duck? It’s the chef’s specialty.” The food was surprisingly good. Better than he had expected outside of New York City.

“It’s fine.” Brian pushed his fork around the plate, but didn’t pick up any food. He’d actually eaten very little of the expensive meal. The food was rich and cloying. Too much creamy sauce. And the duck was too greasy, too gamey. He would have preferred a simple salad. Or a hamburger.

“This is the finest French restaurant in New Haven,” R.J. claimed.

“I said it’s fine.” Brian set down his fork and picked up the glass. “More.”

R.J. refilled the glass and watched Brian drain it. “You were good tonight.”

Brian shrugged. “That’s my job – to be good.”

“Brent seemed a bit shaky.”

“He’s always that way in the middle of the week. He doesn’t seem to turn himself on until the weekend,” said Brian. “We haven’t even finished tryouts and he’s already bored with doing eight performances a week. Wait until the play starts to run in New York – assuming it will run.”

“Oh, it will run,” said R.J. “Tom Pender told me that they already have a substantial pre-sale, mainly theater parties of club women who want to see Brent Pearson in the flesh.”

“They’ll see him,” said Brian. “They won’t necessarily see him acting, but they’ll see him.”

“That’s all they want.” R.J. regarded Brian evenly. “Brent Pearson in a tuxedo.”

“If that’s all people want, it’s no skin off my ass.” Brian yawned. “Can we get out of here soon? I’m beat.”

“Certainly.” R.J. motioned the waiter over. “Please bring our check.” 

“No dessert, gentlemen?” The waiter was young and sandy-haired. He’d been eyeing Brian openly all evening, much to R.J.’s annoyance.

“No, just the check.”

A car was waiting for them outside the restaurant.

“Is it really necessary to have a car on call when you’re here in New Haven?” asked Brian when they were both in the backseat and the chauffeur had pulled away. “A cab would do just as well.”

“I like my little luxuries,” said R.J. “And why not? I can afford them. And so will you – one day.”

“I don’t think so.” Brian shook his head. 

“Think again,” said R.J. “It might be sooner than you imagine.”

Brian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Two producers are coming to see the show in Philadelphia. They’re friends of mine – Charles de la Tour and Donnie Schwartz.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Brian said warily.

“They’re casting a major project and looking for new faces,” R.J. said. “They are very anxious to see you, Brian. They’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From you? I bet they have!” Brian sniffed. “I can imagine what you’ve told them about me!”

R.J. held his temper in check with difficulty. “I told them that you’re a fine young actor – handsome, edgy, fearless. That’s what they’re looking for.”

“What are they casting for?” Brian sniped. “Another television Western? Too bad I can’t wear chaps and ride a horse across the stage in ‘Happy Endings’ – or maybe a polo pony!”

“They’re casting the film version of ‘On the Road,’” said R.J. “Every actor in Hollywood wants a crack at this film, but Charles and Donnie want unknowns in the lead roles. They are particularly looking for someone to play Dean Moriarty. A young Brando. A new James Dean.”

Fuck, thought Brian. ‘On the Road.’ He felt the sweat begin dripping down the back of his neck. “There’s only one Brando. And there will never be another James Dean.”

“You never know,” said R.J., lighting a slim cigar and taking a puff. “There could be another one. And he could be sitting in this very car.”

“I didn’t know the chauffeur was an actor,” Brian deadpanned. “Although he’s pretty hot.”

“Joke if you must,” R.J. cautioned. “But this is about your future. This won’t be your only chance at stardom, Brian – I’m convinced it’s your destiny – but it’s a perfect opportunity. The part is tailor-made for you. Anyone who plays it is guaranteed the full star treatment.”

“I... I’m not ready,” said Brian, suddenly feeling very isolated.

“Yes, you are,” said R.J. “You’ve been preparing for this your entire life. It’s time to stop hiding. It’s time to step up.”

“This is Hollywood,” said Brian. “I’m a stage actor.”

“You’re an actor,” R.J. stated. “If you want to waste your life doing Ibsen in a converted warehouse in New Jersey or Shakespeare in a barn upstate for scale, then do it. But don’t pretend you’re suffering for your ‘art’! Admit that you’re afraid to truly succeed and have done with it!”

“You know I want to succeed,” said Brian.

“Then act like it!” R.J. lashed back. “Take this opportunity! Or go back to Pittsburgh and get a job in a factory. Or...”

“Or?”

“Come and live with me and forget about acting,” R.J. said softly. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to secure your future. I’ll adopt you and make you my heir. You’ll never have to worry about money again for as long as you live.”

Brian stared out the car window. “And all I have to do is give up acting?”

“That’s all.” R.J. didn’t look at Brian. He didn’t need to look to know the answer.

“No.”

“Then be an actor,” said R.J. “I’ve already arranged for Brent to be ill one night in Philly. That’s the night Charles and Donnie will be seeing the play, so they’ll see you in the lead role. I want you to be perfect, Brian. And you will be. I know you won’t let me down.”

Brian glanced at R.J. sharply. “Why would Brent do this?”

“Because I told him to,” said R.J. “He has his future riding on this play and on the possible film to be made of it. I own the rights to both.”

“Great!” said Brian. “Now you tell me! It was a fucking set-up all along!”

“No,” said R.J. “It wasn’t. I’m a silent partner with Tom Pender and Howard Garson. Not even Melvin or Phil Bruce know I have the major investment in this play. And, for the record, I had nothing to do with casting. I didn’t even know you were auditioning until I saw the final cast list. You won this role on your own merits, just as you’ll win the Moriarty role. Even I can’t create a star, Brian. Only the public can do that. But you must seize the moment. This is that moment.”

The car pulled up to the Taft and parked at the curb.

“Do you hear me, Brian? Are you listening to what I have to say?”

“Yes,” said Brian. “I hear you.”

“Good,” said R.J. “Now do what you need to do.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin gets desperate.

April 1958

 

“Holy shit!”

Justin grabbed Daphne by the elbow and dragged her into the narrow hallway that led to the restroom.

“Ow! That hurt!” Daphne yanked her arm away. “What the heck’s the matter with you?”

“See that guy who just came in?” Justin pointed to a tall man settling himself at a table near the front window.

“Yeah? So?”

“That’s Ben Bruckner – the guy Gillian is trying to pair me up with!”

“Him?” Daphne peered around the corner at the man. “He’s so old!”

“He’s a visiting professor of Art History at Columbia.” Justin pulled up his sleeve. “He gave me this watch.”

Daphne regarded the watch, which looked expensive, then peeked at the professor again. “Is he rich?”

“I don’t know,” Justin admitted. “Does that matter?”

“My mom and grandmother say it does,” said Daphne. “They always tell me not to waste my time with artists, musicians, and other losers who’ll never make any money. But he looks well-off. That’s a nice suit – tweed. And I like his bow tie.”

“This is a nightmare!” Justin sighed.

“It’s weird that your cousin is fixing you up with guys,” said Daphne.

“It’s a long story,” said Justin. “But he keeps following me around! He took me to dinner the other night and I made the mistake of telling him I worked here at the cafe. Now I’ll never be able to shake him!”

“I thought you were going out with Ethan?” Daphne took another glance at the professor. “And that you had a mad crush on Brian Kinney?”

“Ethan’s only a friend,” he asserted. “And Brian...” Justin shrugged.

“Forget Brian Kinney,” said Daphne. “He’s totally straight! This guy looks straight, too.”

Justin snorted. “That says how much you don’t know about gay men!”

“Well,” said Daphne. “I know that if I don’t get back to the bakery, Michael is going to yell at me until his head flies off! And speaking of more gay men – here come Emmett and Ted.”

“Great!” Justin groaned. “Maybe I can escape out the back door!”

“Hey! Sunshine!” Deb shouted from the kitchen door. “We have customers! And don’t you have work to do next door?” she asked Daphne pointedly.

“Yes, Mrs. Novotny.” Daphne gave Justin a sympathetic look and hustled back to the bakery.

Justin turned to Debbie and gave her his most ingratiating smile. “Deb, could you wait on the man who came in?”

Debbie frowned. “Who? That guy? Jesus! He’s built like a brick shithouse!” 

“I know. So, could you?” Justin pleaded.

“Why? What’s the matter with him?” Deb said suspiciously.

“Nothing. I’m sort of... dating him.”

“Dating him? Congratulations!” Deb grinned. “Have you slept with him yet?”

“Deb! Please! Don’t talk about things like that!”

“Well, have you?” Debbie kept prodding.

“No, of course not!” Justin couldn’t blush, but his face still felt hot. 

“Then what are you waiting for? Your ass isn’t getting any younger! Get out there and take his order, pronto!” She gave Justin a shove. “Now!”

Justin stumbled out onto the floor. Emmett waved at him cheerily, while his boyfriend Ted perused the menu. “Justin! Hi hi!” said Emmett.

“Hello, Em, Ted.” But Justin took a deep breath and walked over to Ben Bruckner’s table. “Good afternoon, Professor Bruckner.”

He looked up and smiled. “I was hoping you’d be working today. But please call me Ben. There should be no formality between us, should there?”

“I... I guess not.” Justin took out his pad. “Can I take your order?”

“Bring me something light – a cappuccino and whatever else you’d recommend,” said Ben. “I’d like to take you to the Met tonight. Have you heard ‘Turandot’?”

“N... no, I haven’t,” said Justin, his heart sinking. He was supposed to call Brian in Philadelphia. The play had just moved there and he wanted to know how the first performance had gone.

“Did you say ‘Turandot’?” said Ted at the next table. Both he and Emmett had been watching this new development in Justin’s love life with great interest.

“Yes,” said Ben. “I have the honor of escorting Justin tonight.”

“I hear it’s a wonderful production!” Ted was an opera queen and made no bones about it.

“Why don’t you join us?” Ben suggested. “I’m using a friend’s box and there’s plenty of room for two more.”

“No! They can’t!” said Justin.

“Yes!” Ted practically jumped out of his chair. He could rarely afford to go to the Met and he wasn’t about to pass up a chance to sit in a private box. “We’d love to!”

“Good,” said Ben. “I’m anxious to get to know Justin’s friends.”

“And we’re anxious to get to know Justin’s... friend,” said Emmett, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d like to take you all to dinner, too,” said Ben. “I made reservations at the Russian Tea Room, but I can easily make them for four.”

“Wonderful!” said Em, clapping. “I adore the Russian Tea Room!”

“Good,” said Ben. “It’s all set.”

“Um... I’ll be right back,” said Justin. “Deb needs me... out back.”

Justin raced blindly through the kitchen and out the back door, pausing by the dumpster to catch his breath. His chest felt tight and his heart was pounding.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Honey, what IS the matter?”

Justin looked up to see Emmett, his face full of concern.

“Em, what am I going to do?” said Justin.

“About what?” Em questioned. “That professor is dreamy! Wherever did you meet him?”

“He’s a friend of Gillian’s. And now I can’t get rid him!”

Emmett was confused. “Why would you want to do that? He’s so much better than that raggedy musician you’ve been bumming around with! The opera! And dinner! He’s certainly no cheapskate!”

“No, he’s really nice,” Justin admitted. “But... I can’t! I just can’t!”

“Does he want to... do it?” asked Emmett. “Don’t worry, hon! There’s nothing to it! You’ll take to sex like a duck to water once you get the hang of it. Just remember to use a lot of Vaseline – the professor looks like he’s packing a big one!”

“That’s not the problem!” Justin couldn’t meet Em’s eyes. “I’m in lo... I mean, I like someone else!”

“So?” Emmett shrugged. “Everyone has to start somewhere!”

“But I can’t!”

Emmett leaned closer. “I can’t believe you’ve fallen in love with that scuzzy little Ethan Gold!”

“It’s not Ethan.” Justin was sweating now. He felt like he was having a heart attack! “It’s someone else.”

“No!” Emmett stepped back. “Not Brian Kinney? Are you still moping around over him? Forget it, Justy! Even if he’d look twice at you – which I doubt – he’s the worst possible person to fall in love with. He’s a professional heartbreaker. And after he breaks it, he’ll stomp on it and kick it into the trash for good measure!”

“You don’t know, Em,” Justin whispered. “You have no idea! No one has any idea!”

“Buck up, baby!” said Emmett. “Tonight we’ll go to the opera and you’ll forget all about Brian Kinney! And who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky with Professor Perfect!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Justin mumbled. “That’s what I’m really afraid of!”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is bored.

Brian was bored.

He knew he shouldn’t be. After all, he was being paid to do the thing he really loved – acting. He was ensconced in a nice hotel room in Philadelphia – much nicer than the room in the Taft in New Haven – with room service paid for by the producers, which was a new and interesting development. He’d picked up a decent trick the night before in a bar near Rittenhouse Square after being warned to avoid the actual square itself – although it was a prime cruising ground there had been a recent crackdown by the police commissioner, a man named Frank Rizzo who wasn’t too fond of fags flaunting themselves in his so-called City of Brotherly Love.

So things should be copacetic.

But they weren’t.

Brian’s attention was suddenly brought back to the job at hand. “Hey! Watch your fucking teeth!” 

R.J. looked up. “Sorry. Is there a problem, Brian? Because you don’t usually take this long to come.”

“If you had any talent for sucking cock, then maybe I’d be able to concentrate and come a little faster,” Brian retorted. “Listen – just forget it! I’m not in the mood anymore.”

R.J. sat up in bed. “Not in the mood to get your dick sucked? That’s a first.”

“Not in the mood to get my dick sucked by you,” said Brian, settling back against the pillow. “Why don’t you scram? I’m tired.”

“What’s really the matter?” asked R.J. “You’ve been in a bad mood ever since we got to Philly. You should be on Cloud Nine! The play is going great and... well, things are likely to get even better very shortly.”

“I know,” said Brian, lighting a Pall Mall. “But I’m restless. That’s all. Sorry I went off half-cocked.”

“And speaking of cock,” said R.J. “Do you want me to finish?”

“No,” Brian sighed. “It’s fine. I’ve already jerked off four times today. And Brent blew me in his dressing room before the show tonight. For good luck.”

“It must have worked because Brent was better tonight than he was in New Haven,” said R.J. “The entire play is coming together. That new business Melvin gave you is working quite well.”

“I invented that business,” said Brian. “Melvin had nothing to do with it. As a director he’s mediocre at best. He’s not Method. He has no idea how to connect with actors.”

“He’s been directing hits on Broadway for almost thirty years,” R.J. commented. He took Brian’s cigarette out of his mouth and took a drag on it. “Of course, that’s nothing to an expert like you.”

“It’s a different world,” Brian replied. “It takes more than the same old tricks to make a dumb potboiler like ‘Happy Endings’ work. It’s 1958, not 1928. Melvin needs to wake up and look at the future of the theater in this country. And it isn’t in drawing room comedies about people playing tennis and drinking fucking martinis! I’ve been talking to Brent and even he seems to realize that.”

“Speaking of Brent,” said R.J. “His wife is coming in from the West Coast this weekend to see the play.”

“So?” Brian blew a perfect smoke ring into the air above his head.

“I thought you might be interested.”

“If Brent wants his wife with him, why should that concern me?” Brian replied. “He’s nothing to me except another actor – and a bad one at that.”

“I thought maybe...”

“You thought wrong,” said Brian dismissively. “If Brent wants to practice his cocksucking skills, then I’m willing, but that’s as far as it goes. I have no feelings for him whatsoever.” Brian leveled his gaze at R.J. “And it’s the same with you.”

R.J. didn’t even flinch. “I know. I’ve always known that.”

“Good, because sometimes you act like you don’t.” Brian’s face was beautiful and cold. “Sometimes you act like I should owe you something. Well, I don’t owe you anything. Never forget that. I don’t owe anyone anything! My only interest is in myself and my career.”

“I know,” R.J. whispered. “You’re a heartless shit. Were you born that way or did something horrible happen to you to make you that way?”

“Who knows?” said Brian. “And who cares?”

“I’m seeing a new therapist,” R.J. offered. “He comes highly recommended.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brian sniffed. “Therapy is for suckers. There’s nothing wrong with you that a good, hard fuck won’t cure.”

“That’s the thing, Brian,” said R.J. “This psychiatrist specializes in homosexuality.”

“Oh?” That sounded amusing. “Does he advertise in the Yellow Pages? ‘Wanted – Queers to bitch about their mothers at $30 a hour’?” 

“He specializes in... in curing it,” said R.J. “Lenny Bernstein has been seeing him. And a lot of other men.”

“Is that so?” said Brian. “Last I heard Dinge Queen Lenny was busy picking up black trade at the Piers every chance he got. Sounds like his therapy isn’t working too well. And it’s not working too well for you, either, darling, since you keep coming back here to get fucked every chance you get.”

“It takes time,” said R.J. “Sometimes it takes years.”

“That doc certainly has a great scam going!” Now Brian was angry. “It’s total bullshit, R.J.! Give me a fucking break! He’s taking money from desperate queers and claiming he’ll cure them. You know that’s ridiculous.”

“I want to change.” R.J.’s voice was muted. “I do. I’m sick of... of this! I want to live a normal life. I want to get married and have a family before it’s too late!”

“Then get married – who’s stopping you?” Brian said. “Brent is married. So is Lenny Bernstein. So is Moss Hart. So are Cary Grant and Randy Scott. So are thousands of other pathetic fags, famous or not. There are plenty of women who’ll marry a queer as long as they get what they want out of it – whatever that may be. But remember, R.J. – you can get married to a female and then divorced and get married again until the cows come home, but that doesn’t make you any less a cocksucker! You can give that quack your money until you’re too old to get it up, but that isn’t going to ‘cure’ you! And you know it!”

“I think therapy could help you, Brian,” said R.J. “I really do.”

Brian leaped out of bed and pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of here! And don’t bother to come back!”

R.J. got dressed while Brian stood and watched him defiantly.

“Have you seen your girlfriend?” R.J. asked suddenly. “Isn’t she in here in Philadelphia?”

“Lindsay?” Brian frowned. “Yes. I wrote to her. And I called her parents’ house when I got here, but I haven’t heard anything.”

“She’s in love with you, Brian. And she’s having your baby.”

Brian turned away. “So?”

“So,” said R.J. “I think you should marry her. It’s the right thing to do and it will be good for your career. Any rumors about you will be dismissed as just that – nasty rumors. Jealousy. Sour grapes. In Hollywood it will only help to be seen with a beautiful wife and a new baby. A serious young actor with his priorities straight.”

“Straight? Just my priorities?” Brian laughed bitterly. “Is that an order, R.J.? Is that the word from your producer friends?”

“No,” said R.J. “It’s words of wisdom from me. I don’t want you to live the way I have – miserable and alone. You can be happy with that girl, Brian, if you try. I know you can.”

Brian stared at his former lover. “And what about Justin?”

R.J. shook his head. “That blond kid? Be smart, Brian. When you go out to Hollywood you can never see him again and you know it. You can’t see him or live with him or meet him at a motel or even acknowledge that you know him. He’s an obvious little pansy and just being around him will taint you. You’re going to have to choose – your career or that kid. It seems an easy choice. You’ve never had any trouble dumping anyone who made your life too complicated. Look at me. Look at Lindsay and your baby. Look at Brent Pearson and a hundred others. Be the heartless shit that you are, my dear. In Hollywood it will be a distinct asset.”

“Get the fuck out! I mean it!” Brian opened the door. “Now!”

“I’m going,” said R.J. “Call Lindsay. Get married. I’ll even be your Best Man – unless you’d rather have Brent do it. He’d be glad to.” R.J. kissed Brian on the cheek. “Sleep tight, Baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

R.J. walked to the elevator. The door opened and he saw Brent Pearson. He was carrying a bottle of champagne

“R.J.,” said Brent, rattled. “I... I didn’t realize you were staying at this hotel.”

“I’m not,” said R.J. “I’m at The Bellevue.” He paused, letting Brent squirm for a moment. “Going to see Brian?”

Brent coughed. There was no use pretending. R.J. Rosenblum was another fag. He knew the score. “Yes. Is he in his room?”

“He’s there. And he’s waiting for you,” said R.J. “He might have some news for you, too.”

“Oh?” said Brent. “Good news?”

“Of course,” said R.J. “Nothing but good news. For everyone involved. Enjoy yourself.” 

“Thanks, R.J.,” said Brent. “You have a good night.”

R.J. watched Brent walk down the hall and knock at Brian’s door. Then he got into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting in a tearoom.
> 
> Not THAT kind.

When Brian walked into the little tearoom just around the corner from Delancey Place he saw Lindsay already sitting there, primly sipping a cup of hot tea.

He stopped short when he saw her. She looked tired, with dark smudges under her eyes, and her blonde hair, usually so carefully curled and styled, hung limply around her angular face.

“Brian!” She stood up when she saw him. Even across the room, Brian could see the bulge under her bulky angora sweater.

He walked over and kissed her dryly on the cheek. Then they both sat and looked at each other awkwardly. A waitress in a pink and white apron came over to take his order, but Brian shook his head and she retreated.

“So,” said Lindsay finally. “How is the play?”

“It’s going well,” Brian confirmed. “We’re having full houses almost every night.”

“That’s good,” she nodded.

“You haven’t come to see the play.” He knew she hadn’t. He’d left tickets for her at the box office every night and she had yet to use them.

“No,” said Lindsay. “I’m not feeling too well. It’s hard to sit through a play.”

“Oh,” Brian gulped. “I’m sorry you aren’t well.”

“I had terrible morning sickness,” she said, staring at Brian’s face. “And now... it’s too uncomfortable. The baby kicks and moves all night long. My mother says that means it’s a boy. That a son always causes the mother the most trouble.”

“Just like the father!” Brian replied, trying to make a joke. But Lindsay didn’t laugh. “I want you to see the play. I mean – if you can.”

“Why are you here?” Lindsay asked bluntly. 

“I want to know how you are!” said Brian. “That you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” she retorted. “Now you can go and not feel guilty.”

“Listen,” said Brian impatiently. “I’m trying to do the right thing!”

“Are you?” Lindsay’s face was red with anger. “If you really wanted to do the right thing, then you’d... you’d do more than just send me money! You’d do more than leave me in the lurch like this! Do you know what would happen if my parents’ friends found out about this?”

“You mean they don’t know?” asked Brian in surprise.

“No,” Lindsay answered, lowering her voice. “That’s why I’m staying at the townhouse instead of out at the big house. So none of my mother’s friends will see me! Even then she’s forbidden me to leave the house. She’d have a fit if she knew I was here – especially if she knew I was here with you!”

“That’s why you won’t go to see the play,” said Brian. “You’re afraid someone will see you.”

“Yes,” Lindsay admitted.

“But what about after the baby comes?” Brian asked. “You can’t hide it forever.”

Lindsay bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. “After the baby comes? What do you think? My parents have already arranged for me to go to a... a place in New Hope. They have nurses there full time. And a clinic. It’s all very modern. And very exclusive.”

“You mean like a hospital?” Brian frowned. “Aren’t there hospitals here in Philadelphia?”

Lindsay glared at her former lover. “It’s a home for... for unwed mothers. After I give birth, they’ll take the baby away and it’ll be adopted by some suitable couple. The people are all very well vetted – my father made certain of that. Only wealthy WASP couples need apply, so the baby will have every advantage. Of course, my father had to assure them that the baby wouldn’t turn out to be half-Jew or Wop – or worse. But I told him that I’d only ever slept with one man in my life – a handsome, but treacherous Irishman. So the baby will be half-WASP and half-Shanty Irish. But that’s all right. It’ll pass. As long as it’s white and doesn’t look too... foreign.”

“Lindsay!” Brian was shocked by her words. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

“No?” Lindsay picked up her teacup. Her hands were shaking badly. “Believe it. My father wants me to take a long trip afterwards. I’d like to go to Europe. Italy. France. Visit some museums.” She looked away. “Take some time to forget.”

Brian felt dizzy. “You’re just going to hand our baby over to strangers?”

“Keep your voice down!” Lindsay snapped. “What the hell do you care? If you’d had your way, I wouldn’t even be having it! It would have been... been flushed down the toilet. That’s how much you cared, Brian. Or didn’t care.”

“Shit,” Brian whispered.

“Yes,” said Lindsay bitterly. “That’s what it would have been. So I don’t think you have any right to criticize me or what I’m planning to do. I thought you’d be relieved. You’ll never have to think about me or the baby ever again. You won’t have to send money or worry about whether one day I’ll show up out of the blue with a child to disturb your perfect existence. It will all be taken care of out of sight, just the way you like it. And you’ll never have to do a thing.”

“I... I don’t know what to say.” Brian rubbed his forehead, but it wasn’t helping his headache.

“Say you’ll marry me,” said Lindsay. “My parents wouldn’t like it, but they’d learn to live with it. Then our baby would have a name. A home. And two parents.”

Brian’s heart sank. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why?” asked Lindsay. “Because you’re a queer? So what? Plenty of fags get married. You told me so yourself.”

“I can’t! Please understand!” Brian begged.

“No,” said Lindsay. “I’ll never understand! You used me, then you abandoned me. You’re a coward, Brian. I can’t believe I ever loved you.” She paused, holding back a sob. “Or that I still love you! That I’ll probably always love you! God, how I hate you!”

“Lindsay, please...”

“Shut up!” She stood up, a little unsteady on her feet.

“Are you all right, madam?” asked the waitress. 

“I’m fine,” she said, waving the woman away. “I’m going back to the townhouse. I can walk. It isn’t far.”

Brian stood and reached out to her. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I said I’m fine!” Lindsay shouted. Everyone in the tearoom was staring at them. “I have to go now. Don’t bother to contact me again... unless you change your mind. Oh, and happy birthday, Bri. Sorry I forgot to send you a card!”

She put on her coat, picked up her pocketbook, and walked out of the tearoom, leaving Brian standing alone, gaped at by a roomful of curious females, teacups in their carefully manicured hands.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin and Professor Bruckner… Awkward!

“I hope you enjoyed the opera,” said Ben Bruckner, handing Justin a glass of merlot.

“Yes,” Justin replied. He took the glass and cradled it between his hands. “I’ve never seen ‘Turandot’ before.”

“It’s a new production,” said Ben, pouring a glass for himself. “It’s an opera that isn’t often done these days, but I enjoy it. It’s about the choices of love. The cold, beautiful princess and the hopeful suitors. Do you know what I mean, Justin?”

“Yes,” he said, not meeting Ben’s eyes. “It was lovely.” 

Justin was sitting on the sofa in Ben’s apartment on Morningside Heights, not far from the Columbia campus. It was getting late and Justin kept glancing at his watch nervously. Professor Bruckner had been extremely attentive all evening, even more so than usual. And Ben was an attractive guy, Justin had to admit that. But he wasn’t Brian.

Brian. He needed to call Brian.

“Your friends seemed to have a good time,” said Ben, sipping his wine. Now he was standing over Justin. Now he was sitting.

“Ted is a real opera queen – I mean fan,” said Justin, looking away again. He wanted to move off the sofa, but it was too late – Ben was right next to him. Very close to him. “Emmett won’t stop talking about this evening for weeks. I thought he’d pass out when he looked at the menu at the Russian Tea Room, he was so excited to be there.”

“I’m glad he enjoyed it,” said Ben. “So, Ted is an accountant?”

“Yes,” said Justin. “For a big firm downtown. And Emmett works at Macy’s. He’s training to be a window dresser. He used to have my job at the diner. Emmett was literally the first person I met in the Village. I think he was trying to pick me up!”

“Pick you up?”

“At the subway stop on Christopher Street. I asked him for directions to MacDougal.”

“I see. I’m surprised that you have so many mortal friends,” Ben commented.

Justin shrugged. “Growing up in Connecticut I only had mortal friends. And the Village is full of mortals. I feel comfortable with them.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “More than with other witches?”

“Sometimes.” Justin squirmed. It was warm in the apartment. He wished that Ben would open a window and let in some air. “This is a nice place. I like your... kitchen.”

“I’m subletting it from another professor who is on sabbatical this year. But the university has offered me a position in their Art History department, so I’ll be looking for a permanent place.” Ben leaned back, his eyes never leaving Justin’s face. “I love this city. I’ve travelled all over the world, but I feel the most at home in New York. And the witch community here is thriving, at least in comparison to some of the places I’ve lived.” 

“I love to travel, too,” said Justin. “I took an art tour to Italy last summer. I loved Florence and Venice.”

“Venice is one of my favorite places,” said Ben. “We could go there this summer. I have a friend who has a villa on the Grand Canal. Have you been to Greece? Corfu isn’t far – it’s wonderful. And Athens, of course. You must see the Parthenon at night.”

“We?” Justin turned to gape at Ben. “You want me to go with you? To Europe?”

“Of course,” Ben replied. “I know we haven’t discussed this yet, but your cousin Gillian is hoping that your Initiation will be more than simply an awakening of your true Power, Justin. She’s hoping that we will Bind. And, I confess, it’s also my hope. I’ve been looking for a partner for a long time and I believe we have a real connection. I come from a long line of scholars and artists and you, too, are an artist. We have so much in common. We’re simpatico. Don’t you feel it?”

“Bind?” Justin’s mind was racing. “But isn’t Binding for... forever?”

“Yes,” said Ben. “Does that frighten you?”

“I’m only 19,” said Justin, on the verge of panic. “I... I can’t think about forever!”

“Your mortal age is of no consequence,” Ben dismissed. “Binding goes beyond mere time. It’s two witches meeting not only in body, but in spirit and mind. That is what I’ve been searching for. I believe I have now found that partner.”

“I... I’m flattered,” said Justin, trying to think of a way out. “But I don’t have any... experience at... at that sort of thing.”

“That is why we must begin as soon as possible,” Ben stated. “Gillian says that you have been very restless recently. You’re 19 – that’s late for a young witch to begin exercising Power. Your instincts have been stifled by being raised away from your true people. And your sexual development has been hindered as well. But that’s something that will soon be remedied.”

Ben leaned over to kiss Justin, but the boy pulled back, turning his head away. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Don’t be afraid, Justin,” Ben whispered. “I’ll guide you.”

“It’s getting late.” Justin stood up and walked away from the sofa. “I need to get home.”

“You aren’t going home tonight,” said Ben.

“What?” Justin stopped and stared at Ben. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going to stay here tonight.” Ben stood up and walked over to Justin, taking him in his arms. “I spoke to Gillian before we went to dinner and she agreed. It’s time to begin the preparations for your Initiation. On the next Full Moon we’ll perform the ritual at Mrs. De Passe’s house in Brooklyn. Then you will come into your own as a warlock, Justin – and I hope that we will be Bound together for all time.”

Justin broke away from Ben’s embrace. “I said I’m not ready.”

“It’s natural to be hesitant,” said Ben. “But once your hot blood is kindled, you’ll find that it’s not only a pleasure, but a passion. I’m an excellent lover and I’ll teach you everything you need to know to be a good lover – and a good warlock.”

“When is the next Full Moon?” Justin asked in a small voice. Queenie had a calendar in her kitchen with the phases of the moon and the placement of the planets plotted on it, but Justin had never done more than glance at it.

“May 3rd,” Ben replied. “A week from tomorrow. That’s why we must begin immediately. I know that it’s not the most appealing thing for a shy young man to share hot blood for the first time in front of his cousin and aunt and all the Elders, so I want us to be comfortable together before that night comes. That will make it much easier when the moment is at hand.”

“But... but...” Justin tried to think of a way to buy time. “We can’t! I have to be a virgin!”

“And you will be,” Ben agreed, steering Justin towards the bedroom. “But there are other things we can do. Other pleasures we may share. That will stir your blood, Justin. Prepare you for when we will be joined together utterly and completely under the light of the Flower Moon of May. That’s as it should be – the perfect moment. I will lay you down on a bed of flower petals and lick you all over with my tongue. Then I will put my tongue in your most secret place, opening it up.”

“You... you will?” Justin breathed. He was beginning to feel his blood turning warm, his fingers and toes – and his cock – surging and throbbing.

“Yes.” Ben’s breath was hot on his neck. He began to unbutton his shirt. “But first we will meditate. Take off your clothes.”

“My... my clothes?” Justin swallowed hard.

“It’s a technique I learned in Tibet,” said Ben, stepping out of his shorts. His body was hard and huge, his prick thick and cut. “From a lama who knew not only how to open up the mind to the infinite, but also how to open up the body to total pleasure. That’s what we will feel together, Justin – total pleasure.”

“We will?” Justin looked at the bed and then at the naked Ben. There was no way to avoid this. No way out.

“Our consciousness will meld together.” Ben sat on the bed and crossed his legs, closing his eyes. Then he began to chant. “Om!”

Oh, Brian! thought Justin. Forgive me!

Then he took off his clothes and joined Ben on the bed.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will Justin do now?

“Justin, my dear,” said Queenie. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“No!” Justin snapped. His head was aching and he was so exhausted he could barely think.

He was just coming in at 9:00 a.m. and he only had 45 minutes before he had to be at Professor Shimerov’s studio for life class.

“Oh!” Queenie quivered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Justin turned and looked at his great-aunt’s distressed face. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m tired and if I’m late Shimerov will rip me a new... um... he’ll criticize my work more harshly than usual.”

“Didn’t you have a nice time last night?” she asked. “Didn’t you like the opera?”

“It was fine,” Justin said shortly.

“And Professor Bruckner?” Queenie wouldn’t give it up. “Did you enjoy your time with him?”

“I said it was fine.” Justin rubbed his blood-shot eyes. “I need to get changed. And I’m working at the cafe afterwards, so I won’t be home until this evening.”

“Be sure to come right home then,” said Queenie. “Gillian wants to have a training session with you tonight. She told me to tell you not to make any other plans.”

“I don’t feel like having a session this evening,” said Justin. “I want to go to bed early.”

“My dear!” Queenie replied. “You mustn’t ignore your training! You don’t have that much time until your Initiation and you must be ready for it!”

“My Initiation?” Justin huffed. “That’s a laugh! I think my Initiation is off-track! And you can tell Gillian that from me!”

“Justin!” Queenie was shocked. “Gillian is looking out for your best interests! It wouldn’t do to get her angry right now. Especially after what happened with Nicky and Mr. Henderson!”

Justin frowned. “What do you mean? What about Nicky and Mr. Henderson?”

“Oh, my! I shouldn’t have said anything about that.” Queenie went to the stove and removed the kettle from the gas, then she fumbled with the teapot.

“Auntie! Tell me!” Justin insisted.

“Gillian told Nicky that he couldn’t publish that book he and Mr. Retlich were working on,” Queenie explained. “Then she... well... she put a hex on their book! So that when Mr. Henderson read what they had written so far, he hated it! She fixed it so it didn’t make any sense at all! Any mortal who reads it won’t be able to understand a word!”

“Can she do that?” Justin marveled. 

“Oh, yes!” Queenie affirmed. “It’s a simple Confusion spell. You usually do it to policemen if they want to give you a ticket for jaywalking or something like that, but she did it to Nicky and Mr. Retlich’s book! Isn’t that clever of her?”

“Yeah,” said Justin, his heart sinking. It was never a good idea to cross Gillian Holroyd. “Clever.”

“Nicky was furious, of course! He called Gillian on the telephone and told her that she was ruining his life. So last evening she went over to that horrible hotel where they were living – and they’d packed up and gone!”

“Gone?” said Justin. “Gone where?”

“That’s what Gillian wanted to know!” said Queenie. “So she went to see Shep – I mean Mr. Henderson – and he told her that Sidney Retlich came to his office and took back the manuscript and said that he and Nicky were leaving for Mexico. Then he borrowed some money from Mr. Henderson. And neither of them has been seen since. So I assume Nicky and his lover are on their way to Mexico!”

“When did all this happen?” Justin asked.

“Last evening, while you were at the opera,” said Queenie. “Oh, and Gillian and Shep had an awful row and Gillian came home in a foul mood! So I imagine they are broken up for good now. Isn’t that sad? I think Mr. Henderson is a lovely man, even though he’s a mortal. But Professor Bruckner is lovely, too. And he’s a wonderful warlock, as well. You’re such a lucky boy, Justin! I know you and he will be very happy together. Much happier than Gillian and Shep.”

Justin felt cold. “You act like... like Ben and I are already a couple! I hardly know him!”

“But you spent the night with him, didn’t you?” Queenie pointed out. “And he’s going to Initiate you. That will be splendid! I know the two of you will be Bound! That will be ever so romantic! You’ll make a lot of Power, the two of you.”

“But... but...” Justin’s thoughts were tumbling all over the place. 

“I know you won’t be a disappointment to us, like poor Nicky,” Queenie prattled on. “You’ll be a fine warlock! Of course, I’ll miss having you here with me, but you can visit all the time. Professor Bruckner will be living in the city from now on – Gillian told me he’s accepted a very important position at Columbia University – and you and he will have a beautiful place uptown. Perhaps by the Park! That will be ever so lovely!”

“Stop!” Justin begged. “Stop talking about me and Ben Bruckner! We aren’t together!”

“But it’s only a matter of time until your Initiation, my dear,” said Queenie. “The next full moon is coming up.” She squinted at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. “Very soon. May 3rd! Oh, I can hardly wait! I must buy you a fine Initiation present!”

“Oh, no!” Justin moaned. “What am I going to do?”

“About what, my dear?” said Queenie, befuddled. 

“I... I need to get out of here. I need to go to my class. I’m late.” Justin stumbled out of the kitchen, his head spinning.

“Oh, Justin! I almost forgot to tell you!” Queenie called after him.

Justin stopped and leaned against the wall. “What now?”

“You had a phone call last night.”

Justin’s heart flipped. “A phone call? From who?”

“Your friend,” said Queenie. “That boy you visited in Connecticut. He wanted to speak to you very badly. He sounded quite distressed.”

“Brian?” Justin gulped. “He called here last night? What did you tell him?”

“I... oh... I told him you were out,” Queenie said.

“Obviously!” Justin was ready to shake his aunt. “What else?”

“I told him you were out with a very, very good friend and that you might not be back all night. And he said it wasn’t important. And then he rang off. But he sounded very sad.”

Justin pressed his palms against his eyes. “You told him I’d be gone all night?”

“I didn’t want him to wait up,” said Queenie. “It was already very late. I hope I didn’t say something amiss.”

“No.” Justin looked away. “I’ll take care of it.”

Justin went down the hall to his room and closed the door. 

Brian was in Philadelphia. But he knew something was wrong with Justin, just as Justin knew something was wrong with Brian. They each knew what the other was feeling. But they both kept phoning and missing each other. Everything was out of whack! Nothing was going right.

He had to get down to Philadelphia as soon as possible. He had to see Brian, face to face. Maybe they could run away together, like Nicky and Sidney Retlich! Except they wouldn’t go to Mexico. They’d go to California. To Hollywood. Brian could be a movie star! That was what he was born to do! And Justin would help him! They’d work together! Be together.

But they had to hurry. Time was running out. Justin tried to put the things he’d done with Ben Bruckner out of his mind. It was Brian he was meant to be with, not Ben! 

It didn’t matter that his hot blood had been roused by some of the things Ben had done to him. He had refused to reciprocate and Ben had thought he was just shy. But he wasn’t shy at all. Instead he was trying every trick he knew to stave off Ben’s advances. And not just his physical advances, no. Ben had been trying to probe his mind. To truly get inside of him. And it took every ounce of Justin’s strength to keep him out, to keep him from learning the truth. That’s why he was so exhausted this morning. 

But he wouldn’t be able to keep up that defense much longer, especially if Ben and Gillian worked together. Then they’d break him as easily as they’d crack open an egg.

And Justin shuddered to think of what they’d do to Brian when they finally found out.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillian lays down the law to Justin.

Justin dragged himself back home after his shift at the cafe, dead beat.

He’d hardly slept the night before at Ben’s, between fending him off physically and fighting him off mentally. He liked Ben, but the bottom line was that he wasn’t Brian. And Brian was...

What was Brian to him?

That was the real question.

He didn’t love Brian. He couldn’t love Brian! 

Or could he?

He obviously hadn’t lost his Powers. He was, in fact, constantly testing them, however tentatively. But perhaps that old wives’ tale about witches losing their Power if they fell in love was just that – an old wives’ tale. Just another myth. Like that myth about having sex with a mortal sapping your Power. That was certainly a lie. Look at Gillian and her mortal, Shep Henderson. Sleeping with him hadn’t made his cousin any less formidable. And having sex with Brian only made Justin feel stronger and more secure. 

That’s why he needed to call Brian tonight. It was already too late to call him before the play, so he’d need to call him afterwards. But talking on the telephone wasn’t enough. He needed to see Brian. Touch Brian! Make love to Brian.

He could take a few days off from the cafe. Ride the train down to Philadelphia. He and Brian could have some time to talk. Time to reconnect. Queenie said that Brian had sounded sad on the telephone. Maybe he’d seen Lindsay. Yes, that was a bad situation, enough to make anyone depressed. Or maybe things weren’t going well with the play. Maybe Brent was causing problems. Maybe they were even thinking of replacing Brian. So many things could go wrong – and Justin needed to be there to reassure him. And to have Brian reassure him.

Justin paused at the door to Queenie’s apartment building and unlocked it with the simple Opening spell Nicky had taught him. He wondered where Nicky was right now. On his way to Mexico with Sidney Retlich. Who knows when he’d see him again, especially if he and Gillian were estranged. Nicky might never come back.

“Justin.” Gillian was standing in the doorway to her shop. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

Justin took a deep breath. “I’m really tired right now, Gil. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“No,” said Gillian. “It cannot.” She held the door open and beckoned him inside.

Justin sighed and went in. She led him back to the living area behind the shop and set him down on the sofa. Then she sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. Pyewacket immediately curled up in her lap, purring loudly.

“I just spoke to Ben Bruckner on the phone,” she began.

Justin flinched. He was trying to keep Ben out of his thoughts. It was too embarrassing. “So?”

“What are you hiding?” she said, coming right to the point.

“Hiding?” Justin squirmed.

“Yes,” Gillian said sharply. “You’ve been blocking me. And Ben said the same thing. He tried to make a Connection with you last night, but you fought him off.”

“I... I’m not ready for that stuff,” said Justin, staring down into his lap. “He wanted me to... to do things to him. I’m not ready to do that with... with another guy.”

“I don’t mean sex,” said Gillian. “That will happen when it needs to happen, Justin, whether you’re ready or not. I’m talking about something deeper. Ben tried to see inside you. To Connect with your Power. But you countered him. You purposefully kept him out.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Justin. Playing dumb seemed the only recourse now.

“Yes, you do,” Gillian asserted. “You couldn’t keep Ben out of your head without knowing it. It’s impossible. You knew exactly what you were doing. And that has surprised both of us. Ben is a very practiced warlock. He should have been able to Connect with you easily, even if you were unaware – or unwilling. But he could not. And now that I think about it, I realize that you’ve been fending me off, as well. In fact. you’re doing it right now. You’re blocking me! And I want to know why!”

“I don’t have to give you a reason!” Justin retorted. “I don’t want anyone digging around inside my mind, trying to find out things! Not Ben Bruckner, not you, not anyone!”

“I’m your teacher,” said Gillian, her lavender eyes focused squarely on his face. “You must open up to me! And Ben will Initiate you. I’m hoping the two of you will be Bound together. You must let him inside – in every way!”

“I don’t want to,” Justin said sullenly. “And I won’t!”

“Why?” Gillian demanded.

“It’s none of your business!” Justin lashed back. “You may be my cousin, but you don’t own me! And I don’t owe you or Ben Bruckner an explanation!”

Gillian sat quietly, considering. She stroked Pyewacket, who turned his cold blue eyes on Justin. “Who is this Brian who telephoned for you last night?”

Justin’s went pale. “He... he’s my friend. The one I visited in New Haven.”

“But he called from Philadelphia,” said Gillian. “The operator told Queenie when she accepted the long distance call. What’s he doing there?”

Justin swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.” Gillian’s face was beautiful, but hard. “Who is he?”

“No one!” said Justin. “A friend!”

“A mortal,” said Gillian. “And that means he’s trouble. Well, that’s the end of this so-called friendship. You aren’t to call him or see him again. And if he keeps telephoning here, I’ll put a Blocking spell on the phone so he can’t call you again.”

Justin jumped to his feet. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. And I will.” Gillian stood up slowly. “Go to your room and go to bed. You are to make no calls to anyone except your mother in Connecticut, and then only with Queenie’s permission. You are also under Restriction. I will inform the woman at the Liberty Cafe and also Professor Shimerov that you won’t be seeing them for a while.”

“What!” Justin gasped. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can,” said Gillian. “You need to focus on your lessons. I will have Professor Bruckner come here to help me. And Mrs. De Passe will also be coming to test you before your Initiation. This is an important step, Justin. I want to make certain that nothing goes wrong.”

“You can’t keep me here!” Justin shouted. “I’ll run away!”

“No,” said Gillian. “You won’t. I’ve put a Restriction spell on this building. That means you can’t leave it unless I release you. And I won’t release you until May 3. That’s the Full Moon. The night of your Initiation. That night we will go to Brooklyn and Mrs. De Passe’s house and you will undergo the Ritual. Ben Bruckner will take your virginity and I and the Elders will tap into your Power. The Power you and Ben create will feed all of us.” 

“And... and after my Initiation?” Justin asked, weakly.

“Afterwards you will be kindled, Justin,” said Gillian. “And you will be well on your way to being a warlock of great Power – at least potentially. Because only time will tell if you become a warlock of great ability. That takes training. And a strong will. And a desire for Power. How you use that Power will be up to you. We shall see if you have what it takes – or if you end up a failure, like Nicky.”

“But...” Justin’s head was spinning.

“Goodnight, Justin.” Gillian guided him to the door. “Go upstairs and sleep. You’ll need all of your energy for the tasks at hand. And one more thing.” She fixed her lavender eyes on him. “Forget about this Brian person. Forget him completely. Or else I’ll have to make you forget him.”

“Make me?” Justin’s heart was pounding.

“Yes,” she said. “You know I can do it. And I will.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin gets a letter from Brian.

May 1958

 

“Quiet!” Justin urged.

“Ouch!” said Ethan, climbing in through the living room window from the fire escape. “Damn it!”

Justin steadied his friend. “I said to be quiet, E.! Queenie’s asleep in the next room!”

Ethan shook himself. It was raining out and his new jacket was drenched. “I can’t believe I’m doing this! I’m going to be in so much trouble! What if Gillian finds me here?”

“She won’t – if you’d just shut up!” said Justin. But then he peeked out the window, checking to be safe. “Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Ethan, brushing the rain off his sleeves. “The fire escape leads to the back alley. No one can see you there unless you’re watching for you.”

“What about Pyewacket?” asked Justin. “He’s always skulking around, spying on everyone.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“Good,” said Justin. “Follow me.”

The two boys tiptoed down the hallway to Justin’s bedroom. Justin locked and Warded the door with a spell once they were inside.

“You don’t think that will keep Gillian out, do you?” Ethan scoffed.

“No,” Justin admitted. “But at least it will warn us if someone tries to get in.”

“Yeah, then what will I do?” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Hide under the bed?”

“It won’t come to that,” Justin insisted. 

“We hope! I can’t believe she’s still Restricting you!” Ethan marvelled.

“Believe it, E.,” said Justin, grimly. “I’ve tried getting out the front door, the back exit, and the fire escape, but nothing works. It’s like there’s a brick wall stopping me. Luckily, she forgot to put in a Restriction for anyone else trying to get in.”

“Lucky for you,” said Ethan. Climbing up the fire escape wasn’t his favorite thing. He felt like a cat burglar. Sometimes he wondered why he was taking these risks for Justin. “Not so lucky for me if I get caught!”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Justin sat on the bed and Ethan settled down next to him. “Let’s get this over with. What do you have for me?”

“This.” Ethan took an envelope out of his jacket.

“A letter from Brian?” Justin grabbed it.

Justin had been trying to contact Brian, but nothing seemed to work. With Gillian’s Restriction, he couldn’t get a call out and Gillian had fixed it so Brian couldn’t call in. If he tried all he’d get was a strange busy signal and or a voice that sounded like gibberish. 

Justin also attempted to contact Brian in a more direct way. He spent hours focusing his thoughts, casting them out over space, reaching for Brian’s mind. And sometimes he believed he was making contact. He’d get a picture of Brian or even hear his voice, but he was never sure if it was real or if he was imagining it. And, of course, even if Brian was getting the message, he couldn’t answer him. He was a powerless outsider and had no way of responding.

But Justin had managed to get word to Ethan. E. had recognized Justin’s call for help and come up the fire escape to see if there was anything he could do. That’s when Justin gave him a letter to mail to Brian in Philadelphia. A letter explaining why he couldn’t call him and begging him to understand. Begging for Brian not to give up on him. And instructing him to write back as soon as possible, care of Ethan Gold at the Liberty Cafe.

“Give it up, J.,” said Ethan, watching Justin tear at the envelope. “Your Initiation is in two days. You can’t get away and there’s nothing Brian can do to stop it. Besides, what could he do against Gillian? He’s only a mortal. And when Gillian and Bruckner and all the Elders find out you aren’t a virgin...” Ethan shrugged. “Gillian will probably banish you back to Connecticut. And if she finds out that a mere mortal ruined you.” Ethan made a slashing motion across his throat. “Your Brian will be toast! Burnt toast!”

“Shut the hell up!” Justin barked. “I need to read this!”

“Dear Justin,” the letter began. 

“I’m not sure what to say to you. I’ve read your note again and again. I’m a little uneasy using your friend Ethan as a go-between – we aren’t exactly on the greatest of terms. And it seems useless if your cousin and all of your family are against you having any contact with me. Maybe they know what’s best for you. I can’t say they’re wrong. I’ve screwed up my own life at every turn and I wouldn’t want to screw up yours, too.

This man, Professor Bruckner, seems nice. At least from what you say. He’s one of your kind and knows how to deal with – I’m not even sure what to call it without seeming crazy! Witchcraft? Magic? I guess that’s it. He knows your world better than I ever can. Maybe he’s the one you need to guide you.

You told me once that you can never fall in love. I think that’s a good thing. I don’t think I can either. Whenever I think about love my heart feels cold. Except when I’m with you. Then I feel something. I don’t know what it is. Like that blue light I imagine is covering the two to us when we make love. Maybe that’s what love really is. Or maybe it’s just lust. Just my own selfish desire for you. I don’t want you to be caught up in my selfishness. Enough people have been hurt by it, including Lindsay.

I’ve tried to reason with Lindsay, but she’s still very angry with me. She wants to give the baby away for adoption. But R.J. says that he’ll help us. He’ll arrange for us to get married. I know that would make her happy and also be good for my career. A couple of producers are coming to see me in the show on Friday night. If they like me, they might offer me a contract to go to Hollywood. If they do, everything will change. Everything.

I want this break more than anything else. It’s what I’ve worked for my whole life. And it would mean an end to all the other stuff. R.J. has made that clear. If I ever get to be a big star like Brent, I might be able to get away with more, but I doubt it. A double life isn’t an option for me. I have to live one way or I’ll go insane. And if I want to be not just an actor, but a star, I’ll have to do it straight. What does that old song say? All or nothing at all. That’s the only way.

I know I’ll probably never see you again. Please understand that this is for the best. Best for both of us. It hurts, but that hurt will fade. I know you’ll forget about me long before I forget about you. You’re young. You have everything ahead of you. A whole life that I can’t even begin to imagine, let alone share. I wish you luck with it.

Sincerely,

B.K.”

“No!” Justin cried with a passion.

“What?” Ethan was startled by Justin’s outburst.

“Read this!” Justin threw the letter at him. He got up and paced back and forth as Ethan scanned Brian’s words.

“Seems pretty sensible to me,” he said, folding up the letter and shoving it back in the envelope. “I’d burn this before Gillian finds it.”

“It’s bullshit!” Justin insisted. “Brian doesn’t believe those things he wrote! He’s in love with me, but he doesn’t want to admit it!”

“So what?” said Ethan. “He’s a mortal. Let him go. It’s safer for him if he’s as far away from you as possible when Gillian finds out you’ve already been de-virginized!”

“We have to be together,” said Justin. “And I’m going to make it happen!”

Ethan frowned. “How?”

“With this.” Justin pulled an old, battered Book of Shadows out from under his bed. Its cover was faded red leather and the parchment pages were yellow and brittle.

“Where did you get that thing?” Ethan turned up his nose. The old book smelled of sulfur and mold.

“Queenie’s room.” Justin opened it. The pages were dusty. “It belonged to her grandmother. Queenie never uses it. She told me the spells in it are way beyond her.”

Ethan recoiled. “I’d put that thing back if I were you! You never know what kind of weird junk is in there. And if the spells are too difficult for Queenie, they’re certainly too hard for you!”

“No!” said Justin, a steely glint in his blue eyes. “They aren’t too hard for me! I’ve been reading them and I know I can do them. All I need is a little help – and the correct ingredients. Which you are going to get for me.” He got up and took a piece of paper out of his dresser drawer. “Jimson weed to induce visions. Thyme for courage. Hazel branch to make him yield. Mullein to aid the incantation. Monkshood to make him fly to me. And, finally, mandrake root to bind everything together and give it power.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror as he heard Justin’s list of powerful herbs. “Oh, no I’m not! There’s no way I’m getting that stuff or helping you do anything in that book! You can’t do those spells, J.! You can’t even break out of this building!”

“That’s why I’m going to cast a Summoning spell,” said Justin. “I’m going to bring Brian here. And once he’s here, I’ll figure out a way to get out. Then we can run off together, like Nicky and Sidney. Maybe to California. To Hollywood!”

“But you read Brian’s letter!” Ethan tried to reason with him. “He can’t be a queer and still be a movie star. Why don’t you let him go, like he says? Forget about him! Ben Bruckner isn’t so bad. And he really likes you! I bet he won’t even care if you’re not a virgin. If Gillian kicks you out, you can move in with him.”

“No!” Justin glared at Ethan, his eyes riveting his friend. “I’m doing this – and you’re going to help me!” Justin chanted under his breath as he stared into the other boy’s eyes. “Aren’t you, E.?”

“Y...yes,” Ethan gulped. He knew his Power wasn’t as great as Justin’s. Justin was Compelling him. There was no way he could say no.

“Get me these things.” Justin pressed the handwritten list into Ethan’s hand. “Come up the fire escape tomorrow right before midnight. Queenie will be in bed. I’ll have everything else prepared.”

“Are... are you sure, J.?” Ethan’s voice faltered. 

“Yes! I can’t wait any longer. The Full Moon is Saturday!” Justin stood up and cast his eyes upward. “This is my last chance to be with Brian and I’m not going to let it go!”


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian waits to go on stage.

“Are you nervous?” R.J. asked for the tenth time.

“I wasn’t until you got here.” Brian was seated in front of the mirror in the dressing room, applying his make-up. Actually, he was seated in Brent Pearson’s chair, in front of Brent Pearson’s mirror, in Brent Pearson’s dressing room. “Stop breathing down my neck, will you?”

“Sorry.” R.J. was always nervous before an opening, especially the opening of a play he was producing. But this wasn’t an opening. And he wasn’t producing this play.

No, it was much more serious than that.

“I spoke to Donnie on the phone this afternoon,” said R.J. “He and Charles got in last night. They’d like to have dinner with us after the show. That’s all right with you, isn’t it, Brian?”

“You’ve already asked me that ten times, too!” Brian huffed. “Yes, it’s fine! Now shut the fuck up! I’m trying to concentrate.”

This was the first time Brian would be going on in the lead in place of Brent and it was already hard enough to get into the correct frame of mind without R.J. driving him crazy with all his jittery chatter. 

Brent Pearson was ‘indisposed.’ That’s what the producers of ‘Happy Endings,’ Tom Pender and Howard Garson, called it. That’s what they told the press and what the management of the theater was telling the audience. The sign at the box office read: ‘Brent Pearson is indisposed tonight. The part of Reynolds Roslin will be played by Brian Kinney.’

Some people, disappointed that the star wouldn’t be appearing, demanded their money back. But there was still a full house. At least that’s what R.J. said. But it doesn’t matter, thought Brian. Tonight he wasn’t performing for the paying audience, he was performing for two men – the Hollywood producing team of Charles de la Tour and Donnie Schwartz. 

Brian knew Brent’s lines. He knew Brent’s blocking. The rest of the cast was ready. He was ready. Everything would be fine – if he didn’t murder R.J. before he got on goddamn stage!

“By the way, where have you stashed Brent this weekend?” Brian asked casually. He couldn’t imagine being convinced to blow off not one, but three performances – Brian was going to play the part Friday night, the Saturday matinee, and then Saturday evening. He knew the two Hollywood producers were coming tonight and tomorrow night, but they might well sneak into the matinee as well, so he had to be at the top of his game for all three.

“He’s out on Fire Island,” said R.J. “At my cottage there. He’s got a well-stocked bar, a couple of friendly young men to keep him company, and he’s where no one will see him, so he can let loose all he wants. And since the production is moving to New York next week, his missing a few days won’t matter all that much. We’ll start rehearsing in the Martin Beck on Tuesday and begin previews a week later. Then the official opening on May 22.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be back to playing Brent’s kid brother.” Brian ran a comb through his thick hair and gazed at himself in the mirror. He looked good. Better than good – he looked fucking amazing. He was going to go out there tonight and show everyone what acting was all about. What Brian Kinney was all about.

“Not for long, Brian,” said R.J. “This is only the first step. Your Broadway debut. The next time you do a play on Broadway, you’ll be the star.”

“Do tell?” Brian glanced up at R.J. through the mirror. “Who are the flowers from?” The dressing room was crowded with large floral arrangements. “When I walked in here tonight I thought I’d won the Kentucky Derby.”

“These are from Brent.” R.J. pointed to a large bouquet of spring flowers. “And these are from Tom Pender and Howie Garson. This one is from some female. ‘Break a leg, Brian! I love you! Love, Harriet.’ Who the hell is Harriet?”

Brian shrugged. “No fucking clue. She’s probably one of those women who hang around the stage door every night, waiting to get autographs.”

“Fans,” said R.J. dismissively. “They’re all right, I suppose, as long as they buy tickets and don’t get in the way.”

“I thought the whole point of acting was the audience?” Brian peered at himself again and then touched up the pancake on his chin. “Or is it only about Charles and Donnie, the Wonder Twins?”

“Don’t call them that,” R.J. warned. “At least not to their faces. By the way, did you get your blood test? I’ll go with you on Monday to get the license. What time is good for Lindsay?”

Brian put down the make-up sponge and dusted his face with a little powder. “See, it’s like this, R.J...”

“Like what?” R.J. looked at Brian sharply.

Brian stared at himself in the mirror. Almost perfect. Almost. “I was in the doctor’s office, waiting to get the blood test and...” He shrugged. “I got up and walked out.”

“You what?” R.J. snapped.

“I said I walked out.” Brian stood up and took off his robe, revealing his naked body. He’d been spending extra time at the gym since they’d been in Philadelphia. Working out, but also blowing off tension. And he had a lot to be tense about lately. “I called Lindsay and told her I couldn’t go through with it. That I’d support my kid and do whatever I had to do, but... but not that!”

“Why the fuck not?” R.J. demanded. “Everything was arranged! I even fixed it with the judge to waive the three-day waiting period so you and Lindsay could tie the knot before you left to go back to New York!”

“Then un-arrange it,” said Brian, reaching for his jockey shorts.

“What’s gotten into you, Brian?” asked R.J. He couldn’t help but move closer to Brian. The heat of his body drew him like a fragile moth to a hot, blue flame.

“A little sense,” said Brian, pulling on the trousers he wore in the first act. “Finally.”

“Brian, be reasonable! You don’t have to live with the woman.” R.J. ran his fingers through his greying hair in frustration. “It’s all for show. She understands that. Even Charles and Donnie understand that. But they don’t care as long as you uphold the correct image.”

“Correct image?” Brian raised an eyebrow. “The image of the happy, heterosexual husband? A picture-perfect family to trot out for the fan magazines? That’s all that matters? Well, it’s bullshit! Maybe I can’t live the way I’d like to and still be an actor, but I won’t shoot myself in the head in the name of ‘the correct image’. And I won’t drag a woman and an innocent baby into it with me.”

“She’s willing, Brian,” R.J. retorted. “Lindsay knows the score. You can live your own lives. Plenty of stars do it – and they get away with it because they’re playing the game. The press in Hollywood all know the truth, but they’ll play along as long as you play along, too. Tit for tat!”

“Tit for tat, huh?” Brian watched himself in the mirror as be carefully tied his bowtie. “No more tits for this boy, R.J.! You say that Lindsay knows the score? Well, she’s in love with me. And if she’s my wife, she’ll want to BE my wife! I know her and I know what she’s like. Listen, I care about Lindsay, but there’s no fucking way that I can live with her – or any female.”

R.J. narrowed his eyes at Brian. “This is about that kid, isn’t it? I thought you were finished with him?”

“Who told you that?” said Brian, calmly.

“No one!” said R.J. “He hasn’t been around here, so... I just assumed.”

Brian put the finishing touches on his bowtie, then reached for his tuxedo jacket, slipping it on. “I haven’t spoken to Justin and I don’t know when I will again. But this isn’t about him. It’s about me and the way I need to live my life. If you and Charles and Donnie and Hedda Hopper and the whole fucking Hollywood establishment don’t like it – then screw you all!” He brushed by R.J. “Excuse me, but I need to get ready for my entrance. I’m starring in this play tonight, in case you forgot. It might be my only chance to be a star before my entire career goes down in flames.”

“Brian?” said R.J., hesitantly.

“What?” he paused at the door of the dressing room, pulling at his cuffs. The cufflinks he’d borrowed from Brent were a nice touch. Diamonds picked up the stage lights.

R.J. walked over and kissed him on the cheek, then on the mouth, lingeringly. “Break a leg, Baby. Your career won’t go down in flames, no matter what. I guarantee it.”

“Thanks,” said Brian. And he strode towards the wings of the stage to wait for the curtain to rise.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster!

“Damn it, E.!” Justin threw down a bundle of thyme in disgust. “This isn’t working at all!”

“I told you, J.,” said Ethan. He was actually more than a little relieved that the spells weren’t working. He had a bad feeling about what Justin was trying to do and an even worse feeling about what Gillian would do to both of them if she found out. “Let’s get rid of this stuff and forget it! Brian Kinney isn’t going to come here, no matter what you do. And even if he did, he wouldn’t get here in time to stop your Initiation. How could he stop it? He’s only a mortal! Gillian would knock him flat on his ass!”

“Shut up, E.!” Justin warned. “I can make this work. I know I can! I just need the right combination of ingredients with the correct incantation. Let me look at the Book again.”

Justin paged through Queenie’s old Book of Shadows, while Ethan slipped out his friend’s room to check on Queenie. They had plied her with gin and a mild sleeping potion earlier in the evening, making certain that she’d be completely out of it while the boys worked their magic. Or tried to.

But things weren’t working right. Justin had managed to create a lot of smoke and a few flashes of light, but that was all. 

Ethan opened the door to Queenie’s room. She was snoring away loudly. Ethan crept to the bed and looked at her. Her mouth was slightly open and she seemed peaceful enough. Ethan didn’t like using potions, especially on top of a lot of gin, but it didn’t seem to have hurt Queenie. She probably wouldn’t even remember drinking the gin – or that Ethan and Justin had given it to her. Which was a good thing, considering that Justin’s ‘experiment’ had disaster written all over it.

After leaving Queenie’s room, Ethan checked the front door. The Wards were securely in place and the entire building was silent. Gillian was in Brooklyn at Mrs. De Passe’s house – all the Elders and also Ben Bruckner were there to do the preparations for Justin’s Initiation tomorrow night – and she wouldn’t be back until after dawn, but Ethan was still nervous. Gillian had a tendency to show up when you least expected her. And that was never a good thing.

When he got back to Justin’s room, Ethan found J. still pouring over the Book.

“I think I know what the problem is,” he said, looking up. “The spell isn’t sticking because I’m missing one important element.”

Ethan rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I got all the ingredients on your list, J.! And it wasn’t easy. Do you know how hard it is to get premium mandrake root? Ignatius was grilling me like a cop! He wanted to know what I wanted it for. I told him it was for my grandmother, but he was still suspicious. That’s a powerful ingredient, only used in very serious spells!”

“I know that!” Justin snapped. “Quiet! I’m trying to read this!”

Ethan glanced at alarm clock on Justin’s bedstand. It was almost midnight. That was the prime time for casting a spell. They didn’t call it the Witching Hour for nothing. If Justin didn’t manage the spell soon, then he never would. The time would pass and they’d have to let it go. Then he could leave and Justin would have to face the music tomorrow at his Initiation – or non-Initiation, since that mortal, Brian Kinney, had already deflowered him.

“Give it up, J.,” Ethan suggested. “Let’s take all this junk and toss it into the river! Then I can go home.”

Justin looked up and glared at Ethan. “And what about me? And what about Brian?”

Ethan shrugged. “Ben Bruckner’s a nice guy. You could do a lot worse. I told you before that he probably won’t even care that you’re not a virgin. If Gillian is angry that your Initiation is a bust, you can always go and live with him. Brian Kinney? Forget him! Mortals are nothing but trouble!”

“But I want him!” Justin insisted. “And he wants me! We belong together! I don’t give a damn that he’s a mortal. We’re Connected. I know we are!”

“You’re imagining it,” Ethan said. “You may have put an Infatuation on the guy, but that will fade away – eventually. It always does. You’re the one who acts like he’s Infatuated, J. And that’s crazy!”

Justin closed the old Book of Shadows. “I know what the problem is. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but it’s the only way to Fix the spell.” He stood up. “I need to go down to Gillian’s shop.”

“What do you want to go down there for?” Ethan shuddered. Gillian’s shop, with all of its masks and weird artifacts, gave Ethan an uneasy feeling. He always felt that the eyes of the masks were watching him. And, knowing Gillian, they probably were.

“Wait here,” said Justin. “I’ll be right back.”

And he was. With a cardboard box. A box that was hissing and yowling.

“That better not be what I think it is!” Ethan exclaimed.

“It’s Pyewacket.” Justin set down the box. “After Gillian left I went down and locked him in the bathroom – just in case!”

Ethan gulped. “Just in case what? J., you can’t use that cat! He’s Gillian’s familiar!”

“The Book says I need a Medium,” said Justin. “A go-between to Fix the spell. That’s what Gillian uses Pyewacket for – to Empower her magic. That’s why her spells work so well. Pye is the key!”

“But J., you can’t use another witch’s familiar! It won’t work!” Ethan tried to reason with his friend. “Pyewacket is Bound to Gillian! He won’t work a spell for anyone else!”

“He’ll do what I tell him to do!” Justin’s mouth was firm. “He’s only a cat! He’s a tool, just like Queenie’s cauldron. I know the spell will work now.” Justin arranged the ingredients next to the small iron cauldron he had brought from the kitchen. “I’ll Summon Brian! He’ll have to come to me! He won’t have any choice!”

Ethan shrunk away. “This isn’t good, J.! I know it isn’t!”

Justin opened the cardboard box and lifted out the spitting, clawing Pyewacket. His blue eyes were flashing evil at both boys.

“Be still!” Justin ordered in a hard, commanding voice. And, to Ethan’s shock, the cat calmed down. He lay almost limply in Justin’s arms. But his eyes were still glaring. “Now light the cauldron!”

Ethan closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing a flame into the room. The red fire licked around the edges of Queenie’s old cauldron.

“Jimson to induce a vision of the one Summoned! I conjure thee!” Justin intoned as he tossed the dried weed into the cauldron. “Fresh thyme to give us all courage! And hazel to make him yield to me! Mullein for the incantation! And monkshood to make him fly to me as fast as the wind! I conjure thee!”

Smoke belched from the cauldron and Ethan felt the air in the small room begin to churn, as if a storm were brewing.

“See!” Justin’s blue eyes were glowing with the same light as Pyewacket’s. “It’s going to work! I know it will! Hand me the final ingredient!”

Ethan unwrapped the mandrake root. It was the last piece of the puzzle. It trembled in his hand, like a living thing.

Justin snatched it and tossed it into the pot. “Mandrake root for Power! I conjure thee! Bring my Beloved to me! Make him fly! Make him come to me! Now!” Justin lifted up Pyewacket and held him over the cauldron, which was now not only smoking, but shooting tongues of fire up from its depths. “Bind this spell! With this cat, familiar of familiars, obey my words! Work my will! I conjure thee with all my Power! Bring Brian Kinney to me! Bring him! I command it!”

Flames shot up from the cauldron and Justin pulled Pyewacket away just in time to keep him from being consumed. The fire swirled high above their heads and all three – Justin, Ethan, and the cat – dove to the floor. It was as if the fire were a wild animal, looking for a way to escape its cage.

“Open the window!” Justin cried. “Ethan! Open the fucking window!”

Ethan dashed to the window and yanked up the sash. There was a loud boom and an unearthly cry. He fell back and covered his eyes, cowering against the bed.

And then everything went black.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An important dinner for Brian.

“We would like,” said Charles de la Tour. “For you to test with us when you get back to New York.”

“Test?” Brian casually raised his fork to his mouth. It was never good to appear too eager.

“A screen test,” said Donnie Schwartz. “We want to see how you look on film, Brian. Sometimes an actor who looks as good in person as you do doesn’t come across as strongly on film.”

“Oh, believe me,” said R.J. “Brian comes across in every medium. He’s already done some live television – local commercials and television plays. I have a kinescope of an adaption of ‘You Can’t Take It With You’ he did for the ‘Sylvania Playhouse Hour.’”

“We’ve already seen it,” said Charles dismissively. Charles was a tall, thin, dour man who played things close to the vest, while his lover and producing partner, Donnie, was short, enthusiastic, and emotional. People tended to look to Donnie, because he was the open one, but in the end it was Charles who called the shots. “We want to do our own test with our own people.”

“Of course,” said R.J., pulling back. “He would be very agreeable to a screen test, wouldn’t you, Brian?”

“Sure,” Brian shrugged. “What have I got to lose? Do you want me to do a scene from this play or something else? I like to know my lines before I come in for an audition.”

“This isn’t an audition,” said Charles. “There is no script, no lines. I’ll ask you some questions and you will answer me. Not as a character, but as yourself.”

Brian sat back and regarded the two. He knew they were playing cat and mouse with him. But Brian didn’t like games. He liked the straightforward approach. “So are you seriously considering me for ‘On the Road’ – or are you two guys just pulling my chain?”

“Brian!” R.J. said sharply.

“Look, R.J,” said Brian. “They’ve seen me act. They’ve obviously done research on me. They already know whether or not they like me. They wouldn’t have come all the way to Philly to see me if they didn’t already have an idea that they wanted to use me. So I’ll lay my cards on the table and then you guys can decide whether you want to raise me – or fold. Okay?”

For the first time that evening, Charles smiled. It was the smile of a snake – a very well-dressed and canny snake. “Yes, Brian, we are interested in you. But if we are going enter into a relationship with you – a professional relationship – we like to know exactly what we’re getting. We want to see how you behave, not only on the stage, but off it.”

“What you see is what you get, gentlemen,” said Brian. They were sitting in a private room in an exclusive French restaurant. Why is expensive food always French? Brian wondered. It’s just a second rate meal with a lot of fucking cream sauce on everything. “Can I have some more wine?”

“Certainly,” said Charles. He motioned to the waiter standing at the door and indicated that Mr. Kinney would like more wine. The waiter immediately moved to refill Brian’s glass.

“We like what we see,” said Donnie. He stared at Brian hungrily. The young actor looked much tastier than the duck he’d eaten as his main course.

“Donald!” Charles glared at his lover. “What my partner means is that we might be able to do business with you, Brian. Getting the rights to make ‘On the Road’ wasn’t easy and we want to be sure that the resulting movie is a landmark. And that means choosing the correct actors.”

“We want this picture to be like ‘Rebel Without a Cause’!” said Donnie. “That kind of impact.”

Brian looked at both men and frowned. “‘Rebel’ was one of a kind. And James Dean was an icon. A genius, like Brando. He didn’t even have to speak to convey a hundred different emotions at the same time. I’m an actor, but I don’t know if I’m an icon. I doubt you’ll ever find another James Dean even if you look for the next fifty years.”

“Brian, please!” begged R.J. Goddamn the boy! He was going to ruin it!

“I agree, Brian,” said Charles. “You are not James Dean. And if Jimmy were alive today, he would be my first choice to play Dean Moriarty. Unfortunately, James Dean is dead. And Brando, who we have already spoken to, is not interested. He feels he’s grown beyond such roles. I think he’s mistaken, but it’s his career.”

“We want new faces,” Donnie piped up. “There’s a new generation of brilliant young actors out there and we want ‘On the Road’ to reflect that. That’s why we came to New York.”

“You want Method,” Brian stated. It was obvious that’s what they were looking for. “The Actors Studio.”

“Yes,” admitted Charles. “We’ve tested a number of actors out in Hollywood and found many of them too old fashioned. Or else unable to give us the depth of emotion we want for this film.”

“‘Happy Endings’ hardly shows my ‘depth of emotion’!” Brian laughed.

“No,” said Charles. “But it still comes across. You are fine on the stage, Brian, but Donnie and I believe that your real power will come through best on the screen. In your face. And your eyes. In close-up.”

“Like Garbo?” Brian smirked. 

“Yes,” said Charles. “If that’s the best example you can think of. But also like Dean. And Montgomery Clift. Their acting is internal – and the emotion is revealed in their expression. It’s subtle. And it only comes through on the screen. That’s where you belong, Brian. That’s why we want to film you.”

“But it’s still only a test,” said Brian. “You aren’t offering me the role?”

“No,” said Charles. “That would be foolish. At least until we’ve considered all our options.”

“I agree,” said Brian. He looked over at R.J., who was rubbing his forehead as if in great pain. R.J. thought he was fucking things up. But he knew what he was doing. He’d dealt with a lot of men in his life and he knew how they thought, how they reacted. Charles de la Tour was no different. “It would be foolish. But just in case you weren’t certain – I want this part. And I’ll do anything to get it. I know R.J. thinks it’s unwise of me to say that, but I hate playing kids’ games. I’m an actor and Dean Moriarty is a fabulous role. I want it.”

“Good,” said Charles. “Then we are all on the same page.” 

“Good,” Brian repeated. “I...” But then he stopped.

R.J. saw a strange look on Brian’s face. “Brian? Are you all right?”

“I... I don’t know.” Brian stood up. “Maybe it’s the wine. Or all that cream sauce. Please excuse me. I need some air.”

“I’ll go with you.” R.J. started to rise.

“No!” said Brian. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Brian stumbled out of the private dining room and glanced around. “Is there a men’s room?” he asked a passing waiter. 

“Yes, sir. Down that hall.”

Brian headed down the hallway. Next to the restrooms was an exit. He pushed the door open and found himself in the alley behind the restaurant.

He felt dizzy. No, beyond dizzy – it wasn’t just his head that was spinning, but his entire body. Brian leaned against the brick wall and shut his eyes, attempting to block out the loud roaring in his head. He felt like a ship buffeted by a hurricane.

Something was attacking him. Trying to get inside him. Trying to take over his mind. He could feel it, pummeling at him. Trying to break through. Trying to break him!

“No!” Brian cried. It felt like an assault by a larger, stronger opponent. Although he wasn’t a battler by nature, Brian had grown up in a working class Irish neighborhood, so he’d been in a few fights in his life. But nothing like this. The alley itself was dead calm. The only sounds were from the kitchen – the rattling of plates, laughter from the dishwashers, the chef calling out. But inside his head was a cacophony. And a desperate fiery red light.

Am I going crazy? Brian thought. What is this? What’s happening to me? He thought about the night in New Haven. The attack by the men. And then Justin’s defense of him. That bright red light. And the fire.

Justin. Suddenly he saw his face. But it was distorted. It was Justin, but not really Justin. Justin wasn’t there – he was far away.

“No!” Brian buried his face against the brick wall. “Stop! Go away! Leave me alone!”

And with the sheer force of his mind, Brian lashed out at the thing that was attacking him. Beat it back. 

But it came back. And he threw it back again, harder this time. Focusing his mind. His thoughts. 

“Back! Leave me alone!” he shouted. It smashed against him. And again he forced it out.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the thing retreated. He heard a cry in his head. A deadly scream. And then the red light of the entity slowly shriveled, first to pink, then white, and then it cleared. Withdrew. Blinked out without a whimper.

“Brian!” R.J. cried. He found him on the ground in the filthy alley, his forehead leaning against the wall. He was panting heavily, his collar was torn, and his new suit looked like it had been through a wind-tunnel. “What the hell happened? Who did this to you?”

“No one,” Brian breathed. “Nothing you’d understand. I... I beat it back. It went away.”

“What do you mean?” R.J. looked around, but he saw no attacker. “You’re not thinking straight. I’m getting you to a hospital!”

“No,” said Brian, slowing getting to his feet. “Take me back to the hotel.”

“But you could be injured!” R.J. insisted. “You need to see a doctor!” 

“No doctor,” said Brian. His ears were still ringing, but otherwise he was unharmed. “I... felt faint. Too much excitement. It’s all too much.”

“I’ll tell Charles and Donnie that you’re exhausted. They’ll understand,” said R.J. “Wait in front of the restaurant and I’ll call for my car.”

Brian nodded. “Thanks. What time is it?”

R.J. glanced at his watch. “Just after midnight. Why?”

Brian shook his head. “Nothing. Just curious.”

R.J. stared into Brian’s eyes and saw an odd light in them. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes!” Brian snapped. “I’ll be fine once I get some rest. I have two shows tomorrow. And I’m the star! Remember?”

“Yes, Baby,” said R.J. “You’re a star. A true star!”

“I know,” said Brian. There was a new power inside him. Something strange. But it also felt right. He’d defeated whatever had attacked him. And he could defeat anything that tried to get in his way! He knew, finally, what his fate would be. “And now I really know for certain.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan tries to explain.

“I’m sorry!” Ethan Gold cried. He was sitting on the sofa in Queenie’s apartment, still trembling. “What more can I say? It was all Justin’s idea! He... he made me do it! It’s not my fault!”

“I know,” said Ben Bruckner, trying to sooth the hysterical boy. “Now calm down and start at the beginning. Tell me everything that happened – very slowly.”

Ethan swallowed. Ben didn’t seem ready to kill him the way Gillian had. Ben only wanted the truth. He wasn’t going to blame Ethan for what had happened. Wasn’t going to blame Ethan for the disaster!

“Justin wanted to do a Summoning spell,” he began. “It’s an ancient spell he read in Queenie’s old Book of Shadows. Since Gillian Restricted him to the building, I got the ingredients for him.” Ethan paused. “I didn’t want to do it. He made me. Justin is a lot more powerful than I am. How could I say no?” 

“I understand,” said Ben evenly. “No one is holding you responsible for what happened, Ethan. I only want to get a clear picture of what you boys did and the result. It’s the only way we may be able to counteract the spell.”

Ethan nodded. “I... I got the ingredients from Ignatius at the herb shop. Here’s the list.” He shoved the slip of paper into Ben’s hand. “I told Justin this spell was too strong for him, but he wouldn’t listen! He insisted on doing it anyway!”

Ben glanced at the list of herbs and frowned. “Mandrake root? Jimson weed? Monkshood? No wonder this spell made such a mess.”

“I know,” Ethan whispered. “Justin kept trying to get it to work, but it was only making a lot of smoke. That’s when he... he decided to use Pyewacket. I told him it was crazy, but he didn’t care! He thought using the cat would be the final element to Empower the spell.”

Ben shook his head. “Justin was right. Using a familiar was the key to the spell. Unfortunately, the cat isn’t his familiar. He must have known Pyewacket wouldn’t do his bidding.”

“Justin thought he could force him,” said Ethan. “I tried to tell him that’s not the way things work, but he wanted this spell so badly. Too badly.”

Ben focused his gaze squarely on Ethan. “Who was he trying to Summon?”

Ethan looked away. “I don’t know. Some guy.”

“Don’t lie to me, Ethan!” Ben commanded. “This is too important!”

Ethan winced. “A man. A mortal. He’s in Philadelphia now. Justin thought if he Summoned him, he somehow might be able to get Justin out of Restriction and then they could go away together.”

“He thought a mortal could do this?” Ben said incredulously. “Why would he think that? And who is this mortal that Justin wanted to run away with him?”

“Some actor,” said Ethan, trying to avoid saying Brian Kinney’s name. “He and Justin...” Ethan shuddered, but there was no denying the truth now. “They were lovers. Justin wanted to get away before Gillian took him to be Initiated. He knew that when you all found out he wasn’t a virgin there would be hell to pay – so to speak!”

“So,” said Ben, crossing his arms. “That’s it! I knew something odd was going on. Justin’s been blocking my attempts to Connect with him. I thought he was simply shy and uncomfortable with the idea of being a warlock – Gillian explained that he was raised as a mortal and only recently found out he has Power – but now I see that it was more than that. Did he Infatuate this mortal?”

“I think so,” said Ethan. “Bri... this man is known for being a playboy and having a lot of men – and women, too. But he seemed to be drawn to J. in a way that suggested he was Infatuated. But the crazy thing is that J. seemed as Infatuated as the mortal – maybe even more so!”

That was strange, thought Ben. “Are you certain this person is a mortal?”

“Sure,” insisted Ethan. “He doesn’t belong to any of the known Families and he’s been around the Village for years. Justin said he was shocked when he told him about himself. He had no idea that witches existed.”

Ben was startled. “Justin told this man that he was a warlock?”

“Yes,” Ethan admitted. “They were up in Connecticut. J. was visiting him there and something happened. Some men attacked them on the street. And J. used his Power to fend them off. Brian was with him, so he had to tell him the truth!”

“Brian?” Ben questioned.

Ethan squirmed. “Brian Kinney. The actor. But please don’t tell Gillian! If she does something horrible to the guy, J. will never forgive me! He’ll blame me. I don’t want any more of the Holroyd magic coming down on my head. I’m already in enough trouble.”

“I won’t tell,” Ben reassured him. “But it’s good that you confided in me, Ethan. It’s possible that this mortal received some kind of impact from the spell. He could have been injured by it. I’ll try to find out.”

“I never thought of that. And thanks for keeping this under your hat,” said Ethan, more than a little relieved. “What’s going to happen now?”

“I don’t know,” Ben confessed. “Gillian and Mrs. De Passe are doing everything they can, but I have to be honest with you – it doesn’t look good.”

Ethan felt a chill go down his spine. “Do you think J. might... might die?”

“I don’t know,” said Ben. “But even if he doesn’t die, he could be trapped in this Void for a long time – possibly forever. I’ve never seen anything like it and neither has any of the other Elders in the community. Mrs. De Passe told me they might have to call in someone from Europe to consult on Justin’s condition. But it’s very, very serious.”

The door of Justin’s bedroom opened and Queenie came out. She was clutching a handkerchief and her face was still befuddled from the gin and sleeping potion the boys had given her hours before.

“There you are, my dears,” she said. “Dear Ethan and Professor Bruckner! Can I get you some tea?”

Ethan jumped up. “Forget about the damned tea! How’s Justin?” 

“Oh,” said Queenie, trembling. “There’s no change, I’m afraid. And Pye won’t come out from under the bed! He just cowers there, hissing.”

“If you’d been in that room, you’d be cowering under the bed, too,” Ethan muttered. “I wish I were at home, under my own bed, right now!”

“Poor dear,” said Queenie. “It must have been terrible for you. And for poor dear Justin, as well. He was such a lovely boy. I will miss him so! Gillian is going to call his mother and tell her to take the train down from Connecticut immediately – before it’s too late.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Too late? Too late for what?”

Queenie sighed sadly. “Mrs. De Passe doesn’t think the boy is strong enough to survive this Void he’s in for much longer. Gillian has my sisters up in Salem gathering their coven for tomorrow’s full moon. They will combine their Powers and try to break through to him. If anyone can do it, it would be Morgan and Gwynyth. But he’s very deeply in the Void. He isn’t responding to anything or anyone. I’ve never seen Gillian so upset!”

“If there’s anything I can do, Miss Holroyd, I’d be happy to help,” said Ben. “If you need a warlock to Cast the Air, I’m willing.”

“That’s so very kind of you, Professor,” said Queenie. “But all of that is beyond my meager Power. I can only make tea and hope for the best.”

Ethan sank down onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. “It IS all my fault! I should have tried to stop him! I should have told Gillian! Then none of this would have happened!”

Queenie put her arm around Ethan’s shoulder. “Go home and rest, my dear. There’s nothing you can do here. Now I’ll go and make that tea.” And Queenie bustled out to the kitchen to put on the kettle. 

Ethan stood slowly, his legs still unsteady from the backlash of Justin’s spell. “I... I better go home. This apartment – this building – is full of bad Vibrations. It’s making my head ache!” He put on his jacket and headed for the door.

“One moment, Ethan,” said Ben. “That mortal – what was his name again?”

“Kinney. Brian Kinney.”

“And you say he’s in Philadelphia?” asked Ben.

“He’s an actor,” said Ethan. “He’s in some play there. With Brent Pearson. I can’t remember the name of the theater or the play. But please don’t put a curse on him! I have enough bad karma to last me a lifetime!”

“I won’t put a curse on him,” Ben asserted. “I promise.”

“Thanks, Professor.” 

After Ethan left, Ben Bruckner sat on the sofa and considered. There was something about the whole situation – Justin and this mortal – that didn’t seem right. Something very important was missing. And this Brian Kinney seemed to be the key. 

And he might, thought Ben, be the only way to get Justin back from the Void.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian gets an emergency call.

After Saturday night’s performance, Brian was beat, but also exhilarated.

He’d barely slept the night before – he kept waking up from weird dreams of grotesque creatures flying through the night, screaming his name – and he was still unnerved by whatever it was that had happened to him in the alley behind the restaurant.

But what really had happened? And why did he keep thinking he’d heard Justin’s voice?

Heard Justin calling for him?

And those fucking dreams!

But when he woke up on Saturday morning, he felt he had a new purpose. He’d played the lead in ‘Happy Endings’ and, to use a cheesy show-biz term, he’d killed. No, he’d murdered! The audience, who had paid to see Brent Pearson, had loved him. And, even better, the two Hollywood producers, Charles and Donnie, had loved him. Charles practically offered him the role in ‘On the Road,’ and his lover, Donnie, had been drooling over Brian like a dog over a cut of prime sirloin.

Yeah, this was where he wanted to be. On his way to the top! He knew it was coming – and he was more than ready for it.

The matinee performance was better than Friday’s. Brian owned the role and the whole cast knew it. Usually they all pulled back during a matinee, saving something for the evening. But not today. The other actors seemed to take new energy from Brian’s lead. There were more laughs – a lot more laughs. Some of the actors tried new business and found that Brian worked with them, instead of being thrown off, as Brent often was. They all came off the stage bouncing with enthusiasm.

And the evening performance, which was their last preview in Philadelphia, was better still. They got five curtain calls – and the stage manager brought out a huge bouquet of roses for Brian. And for once they weren’t from R.J. – they were from the rest of the cast. Brian was truly touched by that gesture.

The dressing room was like a party, with the actors, led by Howie Wenner, drinking champagne and toasting the move to New York. 

“Now if we can only get Brian to play the lead full time, we’ll have a production we can all be proud of!” said Howie.

“But without Brent we wouldn’t be going to Broadway,” Brian pointed out. “Because no one is going to buy a ticket to a play starring Brian Kinney. Once we’re in New York, I’ll be back where I belong – playing Brent’s brother!”

“Maybe he’ll get sick again?” suggested Irene. She was starting to hang all over Brian again, which she did whenever she got drunk.

“Don’t count on it,” said Brian, gently but firmly pushing Irene away. “In New York, Brent will be exactly where he should be – at the head of this cast!”

“Excuse me!” said R.J., standing at the dressing room door. “Brian, my friends want to say hello to you again.” He moved aside and there were Charles and Donnie. They’d come to all three performances. Donnie was grinning like a lunatic and even Charles didn’t look as dyspeptic as usual.

“Great job, Brian!” Donnie took his hand and pumped it vigorously. “Tonight was wonderful, really wonderful! I actually think this play isn’t half bad!”

“It’s not half good, either,” sniffed Charles. “But we enjoyed your performance.”

“Thanks,” said Brian. “And I mean that.”

“So do we,” Charles replied. “I’d invite you to dine with us, but I know you must be exhausted after the stress of the past two days, so we’ll say our farewells now. But we will be in touch with your agent to set up...” Charles paused, suddenly aware that almost the entire cast was listening to every word. “To see you again when you get to New York. Good night.”

“Yes,” chimed Donnie. “Good night!”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Brian,” said R.J. “Great show, everyone!”

When the three men left, the entire dressing room exploded in excitement.

“That was Charles de la Tour and Don Schwartz! They’re big wigs in La La Land!”

“They’re casting ‘On the Road’! I read about it in ‘Variety’!”

“Brian! They came here to see you! You’re going to be a star!”

“Brent will shit when he finds out!”

“You’re going to Hollywood! I know it!” Irene squealed, giving him a big hug. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse,” Brian warned. “I don’t have an offer – yet.”

“They’re going to screen test you, aren’t they?” said Howie, gulping down his champagne. “You lucky bastard!”

“Come on, gang! Let’s take this party back to my room!” said Irene. “Next stop after tonight – the Big Apple!”

The actors began to clear out, laughing giddily – and taking the champagne with them.

“You coming, Kinney?” asked Howie.

“I’ll catch up with you all at the hotel. I need to unwind a little first.” Brian sank down in the chair in front of his dressing table.

Howie nodded. “Just watch those two producers. They’ve got a casting couch for guys! If they chase you around it, don’t let them catch you!”

“Thanks for the advice, Howie.”

Brian finished taking off his make-up, while one member of the cast lingered. “This is a wonderful opportunity for you, my dear boy,” said Edgar Phillips-Smythe. “Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t,” said Brian. “It’s what I’ve been working towards ever since I got to New York.”

“If only I were forty years younger,” Edgar sighed. “I’d show you a celebration you would not soon forget. But... alas!”

“I’ll take a rain check on that, Eddie,” Brian smiled. “I bet you were good back in the day.”

“No, my dear boy!” said Edgar. “I’m good now! But then I was truly great! The best! Ask Gielgud!”

“Are we talking about acting – or something else?” Brian raised an eyebrow quizzically. 

“Both!” said the old actor with as much dignity as he could muster. “What about the rumor that’s going around backstage? That you might be getting married?”

Brian looked at himself in the mirror. “It’s just that – a rumor.”

“I’ve seen Mr. Rosenblum around a lot – first in New Haven and now here,” said Edgar. He’d also heard the rumors that Brian Kinney had been R.J. Rosenblum’s kept boy, and seeing them together he could believe it. But it also seemed to be something in Brian’s past and not his present – or his future. “I know he’s giving you advice that he thinks is good for your career. But I can give you some advice, too – and I’m a lot older than he is and have much more experience. I say – follow your heart, dear boy. Never go against your inclinations, no matter how good you may think it is for your image. In the long run, you have to live with yourself and live with the choices you have made. Remember – ‘This above all – to thine own self be true!’”

Brian laughed. “I knew you must have played Polonius!”

“Many times,” said Edgar. “But just because the character is a buffoon doesn’t mean his advice isn’t sound.”

There was a knock on the door and the stage manager poked his head in. “Excuse me, Mr. Kinney, but you have a phone call from New York. It’s that same man who’s already called here twice today. I left the messages on your table.”

Brian frowned. He couldn’t place this Ben Bruckner, although the name seemed vaguely familiar. He might be an old trick, but tricks weren’t usually so persistent. And they never called long distance. “I don’t know this guy, Sam. What does he want?”

The stage manager shrugged. “I can’t say. But he told me to tell you that Justin was in trouble and he needed to speak with you urgently.” 

Brian held his breath. “Justin... in trouble?” And then he remembered. Ben Bruckner. The professor Justin’s cousin was trying to fix him up with. Justin had written to him about it. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” Sam nodded and went out.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” Edgar asked. Brian’s face had suddenly gone deathly pale. “Isn’t Justin that lovely boy you were with in New Haven?”

“Yes,” said Brian, a chill running through him. Now he knew that something terrible had happened to Justin last night. Something witchy and unearthly. That he really had heard Justin’s voice, crying out for him. And that those ugly dreams had been a part of it. “He... he’s my lover. And he’s in trouble! I better take this call – but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help him!”


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin between life and death...

“Brian Kinney here.” Brian clutched the receiver tightly in his hand. He hated taking a call on a backstage pay phone, but there was no other option. Even though the other actors had gone back to the hotel and the only people remaining were stage hands busy striking the set to ship to New York, Brian wanted privacy for this phone call.

“Mr. Kinney, my name is Benjamin Bruckner,” said a deep voice. “I’m a friend of the Holroyd family. I thought you should know that Justin Taylor is gravely ill.”

“Justin? Ill?” Brian tried to swallow the huge lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t go away, just stuck there like a rock. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Before I tell you anything more,” said Ben. “I want to make sure you understand what I’m saying. Justin told you certain things about himself – about what he is and what his family is. Is that true?”

“Yes,” said Brian. “It’s true.”

“And did you believe him?”

Brian hesitated. But he couldn’t deny it. “Yes, I believed him. And... I believe it even more now.”

“Why?” Ben asked sharply. “Why now?”

“Because something happened to me last night,” said Brian, realizing how ridiculous his story would sound to anyone else. “Something... you know. Strange.”

“You were the subject of a spell, Mr. Kinney,” said Ben. “A spell Justin attempted to cast. It’s called a Summoning. Most of these kinds of spells are relatively benign. They put the idea into the subject’s mind that he or she should come to a certain place or seek out a certain person. But this was a very old and very powerful spell. It’s not meant to suggest, but to force a person to come, sometimes immediately.”

“What do you mean – immediately?” 

Ben coughed nervously. “I mean, Mr. Kinney, that this Summoning was intended to transport the subject through Space – and sometimes even through Time – in order to bring him directly to the caster.”

“Time? And Space?” Brian heart was pounding. “Can... can witches do that? Make people appear – and disappear? Make them fly through the fucking air?”

Ben sighed. “Perhaps once we could. The old Books suggest as much. But not in our modern era. No witch is that powerful these days, especially not a young and inexperienced witch. Even a very strong coven cannot do it – at least not that I am aware of. Which means Justin was attempting the impossible. And that has had grave consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” Brian wanted to know the truth, but he was also very afraid. “What the hell happened to him?”

“The spell backfired,” said Ben, his voice somber. “That’s what we believe happened. He used elements that were too powerful for his ability. Justin has great potential as a warlock, but he’s untrained. He and another boy, Ethan, tried to work magic they never should have undertaken. Ethan was badly shaken by it – but Justin...”

“What about Justin?” Brian shouted into the receiver. “Tell me the truth!”

“He’s in what is called a Void,” said Ben. “It’s a state of nothingness. He’s neither in this world, nor in the next one, but suspended in between.”

“But... he’ll come out of it, right?” Brian felt dizzy.

“No,” Ben stated. “He won’t. Once you are in a Void there’s no finding your way back alone. He has to be brought out of it. Rescued from it, as it were. His cousin Gillian and the Elders are trying their best to bring him out, but it doesn’t look good. And if his body dies while he’s in the Void, his spirit will be there forever, trapped between realms. It will never find peace.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me this!” Brian cried. “You blame me for this! I know you do! Justin told me his cousin wanted you to be his lover – but I got there first. Well, I didn’t know what he was! That he was a witch or warlock or whatever you call it! He was a cute boy and I wanted to fuck him – so I did. So kill me for that! But I care about the kid! I don’t want him to die – or to be in this Void or whatever the fuck! This is like some horror story.”

“It is a horror story – a true horror story,” Ben agreed. “But I don’t blame you for any of this, Mr. Kinney. No one is to blame. It’s an unfortunate situation. However...” He paused, trying to think of the right way to put it. “You may be able to do something to help Justin.”

“What?” said Brian. “What can I do? I don’t know anything about magic!”

“No,” said Ben. “But you have a deep Connection with Justin. Usually a warlock and a mortal can have sex and enjoy each other, but that’s all. However, there seems something more than that between you and Justin. I don’t understand what it is, but it’s there.”

“Yes,” said Brian. “I feel it, too. When we... when we make love. It’s different for me than with anyone else. I can’t explain it.” 

“And Justin seems obsessed with you,” said Ben. “In a way that’s out of the ordinary for a witch. Witches can’t feel love the way mortals do. Did you know that?”

“Justin mentioned it.” Brian closed his eyes, picturing Justin’s face. He knew if what Bruckner said was true, he would probably never see Justin again, in this or any other world. “I’m not sure I know what love is, but I feel things for him I’ve never felt for anyone else. If that’s love... I don’t know! Fuck! What can I do? There must be something!”

“Tell me,” Ben said gently. “What do you know about your family?”

Brian frowned. “My family? What do they have to do with anything?”

“Who are they? Where are they from?”

“The Kinneys are Irish,” he said, thinking that was pretty obvious. “My grandparents came here from the Old Country, but don’t ask me where. They died before I was born. And my Old Man is dead, too.”

“And your mother?” Ben prodded.

“My mother?” Brian hadn’t seen or spoken to his mother since he’d left Pittsburgh for New York. “What about her?”

“What’s her maiden name?”

Brian blinked. “I... I don’t know. Or I don’t remember. I never heard her mention her family or anything about them.”

“Not even a name?”

“No,” Brian admitted. “I don’t know what it was. But what does it matter? This isn’t about me, it’s about Justin!”

“But it might be about you, too,” said Ben. “So please consider coming here as soon as possible. Justin’s body is in shock and he’s getting weaker by the hour. He’s much weaker tonight than he was this afternoon. Gillian brought his mother down from Connecticut because she’s afraid he might not last the night.”

“Not last the night?” Brian’s body felt hot all over. “But I’m in Philadelphia and it’s almost midnight! Even if I got on the train this minute I couldn’t get there before morning! What the hell do you expect me to do? Fly there on my broom?”

“Try, Mr. Kinney,” Ben urged. “That’s all I ask of you – to try. It may be the difference between life and death for Justin – and I don’t mean only this life. But for eternity.”

Brian hung up the phone and leaned against the wall in despair.

Trapped. For eternity.

Justin.

That professor wasn’t kidding, either. He was serious. Deadly serious.

“What can I do?” Brian said aloud.

“What did you say, Mr. Kinney?” Sam, the stage manager, stopped, a clipboard in his hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, Sam.” Come on, Kinney, get a grip, thought Brian. “I’m just really tired.”

“You want I should call you a taxi?” Sam asked. “You look beat.”

“No, thanks,” said Brian. “I’ll walk back to the hotel. I need some fresh air.”

“Right then,” said Sam. “I’ll see you when we get to New York.”

Brian went back to the dressing room and packed the rest of his make-up and odds and ends into his trunk. They’d be shipping the trunks tomorrow with the costumes and props. All he had to do Sunday was rest and pack his suitcase. Then he’d take the train on Monday morning and get ready for final rehearsals before the previews began. Then they’d open on Broadway. And...

And what?

Justin.

What if Justin died? Or... whatever. 

All this witch stuff was making him crazy! He didn’t want to believe it, but he did believe it. He knew it was true. He knew it in the pit of his stomach. And in his heart. 

And also somewhere else, deep inside of him. Yes, Brian, you know about this. It isn’t a surprise. It’s something you’ve always known, but never had a name for.

Last night he knew it was magic that was attacking him, but he didn’t understand where it was coming from. Should he have given in? Let the spell take him?

No, he couldn’t do that! He couldn’t have released himself to it. The spell was corrupt. If he’d let himself be taken, then he’d be in the Void, too. Along with Justin.

Maybe that’s where he should be. The two of them together.

“No!”

Brian slammed down the lid of the trunk and locked it, making certain the label was correct: The Martin Beck Theater, New York.

He put on his camelhair coat and walked out of the theater. It was getting too warm to wear the coat. Soon it would be summer. All the tourists would come into town and the theaters would be busy, but also hot. He’d have some money in his pocket for once. No summer stock for him this year. That is, if the play ran. Or maybe he’d even be somewhere else. Hollywood. Maybe.

Brian stopped on the deserted sidewalk and pressed his eyes shut. No matter how much he tried to block out the professor’s words, he couldn’t do it. Justin was in terrible trouble. He was dying. What did the play or Hollywood or his fucking career matter compared to that?

He could get the first train out in the morning. He could be in New York in a few hours. Or maybe he could hire a cab tonight and pay the guy to drive him to the city. That would be faster. But he didn’t have that much cash on him. First he’d have to go see R.J. and borrow the money from him. Then he’d have to explain what he wanted it for. And R.J. would balk at that, especially if he knew he was going to see the kid. He’d think Brian just wanted to get laid. But he couldn’t tell him the truth – R.J. would never believe it! He’d think Brian was drunk – or crazy!

Shit!

“Justin!” he cried out. 

But there was no reply. The streets were empty. He heard a car horn in the distance, but nothing else.

“Justin? Can you hear me? Answer me!” Brian demanded.

And then he heard... something. The wind began to whirl around him, and he thought he heard those weird voices from his dreams. Calling to him. 

And he could hear Justin’s voice, too. Small and distant. And afraid.

“Brian! Help me! Please!”

And then it was lost in the rising wind.

“Justin! Can you hear me? I’m coming!” Brian shouted. He raised his arms above his head, his fists clenched. “Nothing can stop me! Not Time, not Space! I’ll come to you before it’s too late! Justin! I’m coming! Now!” 

Brian felt a sweep of movement around him, like a fallen leaf caught up in a maelstrom. His head began spinning. He felt off balance, as if his feet were no longer on the ground. And then a blue light enveloped him, warm and protective, while beyond him was the indifferent night and all the cold stars blinking.

And then he was gone.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visitor.

Gillian stretched out on the white fur rug and gazed into the crackling fire. Even though it was May, the evening was chilly. Or perhaps it was only this building. Or the Village. Yes, there was a chill over the entire witch community, which was holding its breath, waiting for...

For what?

Gillian sighed. For Bianca De Passe and the Elders, working feverishly at Bianca’s house in Brooklyn to find a way to get through to Justin. Or for Justin to die and be lost in the Void forever.

That had never happened to anyone she’d ever known. 

There were rumors of witches who’d gone into the Void, usually after badly botched spells. And once a witch had been Banished there. That was after the War, when a group of German witches caught up with one of their sisters who had been working with the powers of Evil who had killed millions. They had taken her away and performed a spell against her that was so dire most witches wouldn’t even admit that it existed – the ultimate Banishment. Exile into the Void. Nothingness forever and ever.

The thought of Justin sharing such a horrible Fate was unthinkable. 

Poor foolish Justin.

Pyewacket had finally come out from under the bed and she’d carried him down into her own room, where he was curled up in his cat bed, his blue eyes shut tightly. Gillian wondered if he would ever be the same. Or ever work as her familiar again.

Would any of them ever be the same?

Rivka Gold had called to say that Ethan couldn’t stop shaking and was in his bed with the covers pulled over his head. For the first time since he was 5 years old, Ethan hadn’t touched his violin. “It’s a shonda,” she said. And Gillian agreed. “Kinahora!” Rivka pronounced before she hung up, invoking protection against the evil eye.

The evil eye. Gillian shook her head.

That pall of bad luck was hanging over everything.

And upstairs Jennifer sat by her son’s bed, holding his hand. Staring at his motionless form. Unable to hope. 

Unable to cry.

What would it be like to cry? Gillian wondered. Would it be a relief? Or a sign of weakness?

Mortals cried. Blushed. Fell in love. What would it be like to be mortal? Gillian had often dreamed of being normal. Ordinary. Of living a life beyond magic. Jennifer had tried to do it. She’d run away, married a mortal, lived in the suburbs and had children. But in the end there was no escaping what you were. Justin was a warlock and Jennifer had admitted to her that her young daughter Molly was beginning to show the signs, too. There was no denying the truth. When that happened it would probably mean the end of her already strained marriage.

And if Justin died...

Gillian heard someone knocking on the door of the shop. Pounding loudly on it.

“Go away!” she called. “It’s after midnight! We’re closed!”

The pounding continued, even harder.

“Open up!” said an insistent voice. “I’m not going away!”

Finally, Gillian rose and padded to the door, her lavender eyes flashing. “What do you want? We have an ill person here and we don’t want to be disturbed!”

But the tall man standing in front of her had no intention of going away. “I know!” he said. “I’m here to see Justin. But you already know that, since you’re the one who brought me here.”

“I brought you here?” Gillian stared at the man. “I did no such thing! I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Brian Kinney,” he replied. 

She looked at him blankly. “So?”

“Ben Bruckner called to tell me that Justin was stuck in a Void or some such bullshit,” said Brian. “He told me to come here immediately. I was going to take the train or a cab, but apparently you people wanted me here a lot faster than that. Well, here I am – and I want to see Justin!”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Gillian had no patience for such nonsense. “What do you mean you got here faster?”

“You tell me, lady!” Brian barked. “I was standing on the sidewalk in Philadelphia, thinking about Justin. And... and I wanted to come to him. Bruckner said he might not last the night. I knew I had to be with him. Suddenly there was this weird sound, like voices. And wind. And that creepy blue light. The next thing I knew – I was here. In the Village. Standing at your door. So you must have brought me here.” Brian paused. “Didn’t you?”

“Of course not!” Gillian asserted. “What you’re saying is patently absurd. No witch can Transport someone from one city to another. Why, there’s not a witch alive who can Transport even an inanimate object from one room to another, let alone a full grown man!”

“Well, someone did it,” said Brian. “Because here I am!”

Gillian frowned. “You say you want to see Justin?”

Brian held up his head defiantly. He knew Justin’s cousin was a powerful witch. He could feel the Power radiating from her. But he wasn’t afraid of her. Not afraid at all. Let her do her worst!

“Yes, I told you I’m Brian Kinney. I’m Justin’s lover.”

Gillian’s eyes widened. “You! The... the mortal! The one he was trying to Summon!”

“Yes,” said Brian. “Please let me see him!”

Gillian knew she should be furious at this man, but she was too weary to work up the requisite indignation. The mortal said Ben Bruckner had telephoned him. Ben must have gotten his name from that little weasel Ethan. She knew she never should have trusted that boy! He and Justin were scheming behind her back the entire time! She must really be slipping!

But... if what this man said was true...

She reached out her hand. “Excuse me, but may I touch you?”

“Touch me?” Brian drew back, suspiciously. “What for?”

“Please?” Gillian’s long, manicured fingers beckoned. “Only for a moment.”

Brian hesitated, but then held out his right hand and Gillian grasped it. Both of them immediately felt a charge, like an electric shock.

“What the hell was that?” said Brian, recoiling.

Gillian pulled her own hand away and rubbed it. “Please come into my shop, Mr. Kinney.”

“But what about Justin?”

“He’s stable for the moment,” she said. “His mother is with him and Mrs. De Passe and the Elders are working on his cure – we hope. Please follow me. This could be very important.”

Brian reluctantly followed the woman through the shop full of wooden masks and idols and into her living area in the back. She sat him on the sofa and placed a ceramic bowl on the coffee table in front of him. “I’d like to try a little experiment, if you don’t mind?”

Brian shrugged his consent. Gillian went into the next room and came out with a Siamese cat in her arms. Justin had told him about the cat – the witch’s familiar.

Pyewacket glared at Brian with intense blue eyes. Then he yowled and leapt from Gillian’s arms, running back into the bedroom and hiding in the closet.

“I guess that cat doesn’t like me,” Brian commented.

“Pyewacket was part of the spell that went wrong,” said Gillian. “But his reaction just now had nothing to do with Justin. He was reacting to you, Mr. Kinney.”

“Why? I never did anything to him – or any other cat.”

“He was reacting to your Power,” said Gillian. “Just as I reacted to it when we touched.”

“My Power?” Brian frowned. “I don’t have any Power. I’m just a plain old mortal. I leave that hocus pocus to you people!”

Gillian knelt down at Brian’s feet. “Mr. Kinney, please tell me the truth. This could mean the difference between life and death for Justin. Who are you – really? You can tell me.” 

Brian squirmed. “Bruckner asked me the same thing. About my family. About my mother’s family. And I’ll tell you what I told him – the Kinneys are Shanty Irish from the Old Country. My old man worked for the railroad and then in the steel mills until he died. My mother – she’s just a regular woman. She goes to Mass twice a day and says her rosary constantly. Or she used to. I haven’t seen her in over ten years but I imagine she hasn’t changed much. And I don’t know her maiden name, so don’t bother to ask.”

Gillian’s mind was turning this way and that. She needed to speak carefully. It was obvious this man was in the dark about his real identity. No wonder Justin had only become more powerful after having sex with him! Their Connection was so strong that Gillian could feel it, like a heat emanating from him in a pulsing blue aura. Reaching out for Justin even as he sat there so still, but so determined.

And if what she believed had happened was true...

She would have thought it impossible! Transporting from one city to another! Without any training! Without any knowledge of magic! But it was the only answer. Justin couldn’t have done it – his Power was frozen in the Void. And no one else had that ability. No one had that kind of raw Power. At least no one Gillian knew.

Or no one – until now.

“Mr. Kinney – Brian,” she said in her low, husky voice. “There’s a reason we’re asking those questions. It’s because you have Power. And you have Power because you are one of us. Kinney is not one of the Families, but your father may have changed his name. However, it is more likely it comes through your mother. That would be my guess. That your mother, or even your grandmother, Renounced or went into hiding for some reason. You have inherited their Power. And it isn’t a small Power, either, but something very strong. Stronger, perhaps, than any witch in this city. Certainly stronger than Justin, or I, or even Professor Bruckner possesses.”

Brian gaped at Gillian – and then laughed. “You’re wacky, lady! I’m no fucking witch!”

“But you are,” said Gillian. “Whether you want to believe it or not.”

“And I can fly through the air at will?” Brian scoffed. “That will certainly save me a lot of money in train tickets!”

“Then how do you explain how you came to be here?” Gillian asked. “None of us brought you. Even my mother’s coven and Mrs. De Passe’s coven combined couldn’t do it!”

“But... maybe Justin? Maybe he...” Brian faltered.

“He can’t,” said Gillian bluntly. “You may have heard his spirit calling you, but it’s only a shadow. Like a ghost. It has no Power. It can only cry out to... to the one it is Bound to. And I believe you and Justin are Bound. That you Joined together when you took his virginity. Since then you both have been gaining Power – Justin certainly has, but so have you.”

“But if Justin has so much Power, why did that spell screw up?” Brian didn’t know what to believe anymore! It was all nuts!

“Power must be directed,” said Gillian. “In its pure, untamed form Power can be very dangerous, especially if the warlock is using elements he doesn’t know how to control. That’s what happened to Justin. And then he compounded his error by trying to force my familiar – Pyewacket – to work the spell for him. No witch can use the familiar of another – and no witch can force another witch or familiar to cast a spell. What I believe happened is that the spell was cast, but incompletely. It went out into the world, looking for you. But it was... how can I put it? Not a good spell.”

“It was corrupt,” said Brian, taking a deep breath. “How did I know that?”

“Yes,” said Gillian in surprise. “That’s what we say. The spell was corrupt. And that made it very perilous. It would have badly hurt or even killed the subject – I mean to say, any other subject but you. Any mortal subject.”

“I fought it,” whispered Brian. “It... it attacked me! And I threw it off! That means I really am to blame!” He jumped to his feet. “If Justin dies, that means I killed him!”

“No, Brian,” said Gillian. “Justin was already in the Void by the time it reached you. There was nothing you could have done to prevent that. You saved yourself. However...” Gillian got to her feet. “By saving yourself, you are alive. In fact, by fighting it you flexed your Power and became stronger. Which means you may still be able to help Justin.”

“That’s what the professor said.” Brian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think. “Everything is so fucked up! What can I do? Even if I am a witch or warlock or whatever the fuck, I don’t know how to cast a spell! How can I save Justin?”

Gillian took his hand gently. She could feel Power surging through his body. It was almost too much for her to be in contact with, but she braced herself. “Now I understand why Ben told you to come here. He had a suspicion about the Connection between you and my young cousin. And I agree with him. All of the spells we have been casting have gone for naught. There’s only one way to reach Justin and that’s through the one he’s Bound to. That’s you, Brian. Only you can bring him back.”

Brian shivered. It was like a huge weight was pressing on him. “And what if... if I can’t do it?”

Gillian looked away and took back her hand. “That would be unfortunate. Because in a Binding when one partner dies, that means the other partner will soon follow.”

Brian flinched. “Follow?”

“Yes,” said Gillian. “You too will die – and then your spirit will follow Justin into the Void where you will be together for all eternity – and not in a good way. So let’s hope this works, shall we?”

Brian rubbed his aching forehead. This was a nightmare! “No shit, lady!”

“Exactly,” Gillian replied. “So let’s go upstairs and begin.”


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian looks into the Void.

When Gillian brought Brian up to Justin’s room, Jennifer Taylor was sitting on a chair by the bed. She looked up, a worried expression on her face.

“He was so quiet,” she said in desperation. “And then all of a sudden he started moaning! And... and moving his head, as if trying to sit up. But he won’t speak to me! He still seems far away – out of my reach!”

Gillian lay a cool hand on Justin’s head. “He is still very far away. But perhaps we can coax him back.”

“Coax him?” said Jennifer. “How?” Then she noticed the tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway. “Who is this? What’s he doing here?”

“This is Brian,” said Gillian. 

“Brian?” Jennifer frowned.

“He’s Justin’s lover,” said Gillian. “He’s going to try and bring him back.”

“Lover?” Jennifer cried.

“Yes,” said Gillian, taking Jennifer’s hand gently. “Queenie has made some tea. Why don’t you go out and have a cup? And save one for me, too.”

“But... but who is this man? I want to stay with my son!” Jennifer protested. But Gillian led her to the door, where Queenie was waiting to take her to the living room.

“What now?” Brian asked nervously. He couldn’t take his eyes off Justin. He was pale, his translucent skin chalky except for an angry red glow that seemed to encase him. He was making a soft, low sound, like a steady keening. “Is... is he in pain?”

“I don’t know,” said Gillian honestly. “I don’t think there is physical pain, but I can’t say as much for his mental state. He’s certainly in emotional pain. And that’s not something we witches are used to. Mortals are creatures of emotion, not witches.”

“Then why am I feeling all this... emotion!” Brian countered. “And so is Justin! I can sense that he’s in distress! That he’s hurting!”

“I know,” said Gillian. “But you must have patience.”

She picked up a small bowl from the bedside table and broke some herbs into it. Then she lit a match and dropped it onto the leaves. A pungent, bracing odor rose from the bowl. “This is sage. To purify the room. Mrs. De Passe already did a cleansing ritual, but I want to make certain there are no residual vibrations before you begin. Here.” She held the bowl in front of Brian and waved the smoke at him. Then she waved more smoke over Justin, who was now thrashing in his bed.

“It’s not helping him!” said Brian. “He’s convulsing!”

“No,” said Gillian. “He’s reacting – to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes,” said Gillian. “The moment you came back Justin knew it. That’s why he began to make those moaning sounds Jennifer mentioned. He wasn’t doing that before. Now that you are so near, he’s trying to get back to you. That’s a very good sign. Take his hand. Speak to him.”

Brian nodded and took Justin’s hand. It was as cold as marble, even though the room was warm. “Hey, Justin. Can you hear me? It’s Brian.” He looked up at Gillian. “This feels stupid.”

“It’s not,” she replied. “Look! He’s quieting. He’s listening to you.”

And Gillian was right. Justin had settled. And his hand was feeling warmer, taking on the heat of his lover’s body.

“Justin, I came all the way from Philly to see you,” Brian whispered, kneeling by the bed. “It was quite a trip, I’ll tell you. I don’t think I want to travel that way again. But it was worth it to see you. Can... can you hear me? Justin?”

Justin’s eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open.

“Say something to me!” Brian begged. “Give me a sign that you can hear me!”

Justin’s mouth opened, but no words came out, only a low groan.

“He’s in pain!” said Brian. “This is hurting him!”

“No,” said Gillian. “He’s struggling, trying to break through. That’s not an easy thing. It takes courage. He’s trying to reach you. Don’t give up on him, Brian. You two have just begun.”

“What else can I do?” said Brian. “I need to do more than sit here and hold his hand! That’s what his mother was doing!”

Gillian gazed at Justin, watching his aura. The ugly red glow was pulsating around him like an open wound, but there was also a slight blue tinge around his eyes and his lips.

“I think we must move to the next level,” she said. “He’s reacting to you. I can feel the Power building in the room.” She touched Brian’s shoulder. “Stand up.”

Brian stood.

“Now take off your clothes.”

“What?” Brian sputtered.

“Take off your clothes and make love to him,” Gillian directed. “It’s time for you to Connect with him. There’s no time to lose. He’s closer to coming back than he’s ever been. We can’t afford to let him get away.”

“You want me to make love to him?” said Brian. “Now? But he’s unconscious! I... I can’t do that! It’s sick!”

“You must,” said Gillian. “When the two of you had sex the first time, you became Bound to each other. Justin’s Power was kindled, but so was yours. The Power that had been dormant for your entire life came alive. The two of you empower each other. It’s the way Bound couples share their Power and strengthen their Bond. Justin needs your Power now. He needs your strength. But you must focus your mind. Direct your thoughts. If you hesitate, your spirit might well be sucked into the Void with him.”

Brian glared at Gillian. “But you said that if I fail then I’ll die anyway!”

“Yes,” said Gillian, more softly. “You both will. But I don’t think that will happen. I believe in you, Brian. I can feel your energy. And Justin can feel it, too. Look at him!”

Justin’s hand was now gripping Brian’s tightly.

“He feels warmer,” Brian admitted.

“It’s cold in the Void. Deathly cold. But you can warm him, Brian,” Gillian urged. “Hot blood! It’s the way to life!”

Brian looked down at Justin, lying in the bed. He pictured Justin with his eyes open. Justin laughing. Justin running to him, his arms outstretched.

A blue glow enveloped their clasped hands. 

Yes, thought Brian, this would be easy. He’d already broken the laws of Space and Time to reach Justin. He’d done it with only his thoughts. With his will. With his desire. And he could do this! After all, not even the lethal Power of the Void could defeat the magic cock of Brian Kinney!

Brian laughed out loud and began to unbutton his shirt. “I think you should leave,” he said to Gillian.

“Certainly,” she replied, backing towards the door. “Good luck, Brian.”

“No,” said Brian, knowing that this would be the greatest performance of his life. “Not good luck. Break a leg.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian works his special magic.

Brian pulled the covers back, revealing Justin’s body.

He was as white and still as a statue.

“Can you hear me?” Brian whispered. “Justin?”

But he didn’t respond.

Gillian was right. There was no time to lose. Brian could sense Justin beginning to fade away. Already receding back into the Void.

You can do this, Kinney, Brian thought, steeling himself. He’s not dead – he’s alive! But he’s still far away. And you can bring him back.

Only you.

And if you fail...

“Then we’re both doomed,” said Brian aloud. “There’s no hope for either of us.”

Brian got into the bed, next to Justin.

He began with Justin’s right hand. That was the warmest part of his body. The blue glow Connected them there. Brian put that hand between his own, chafing it gently. Then rubbing vigorously. One of Justin’s fingers moved slightly, twitching.

“That’s it,” Brian said softly. “You can feel me. Work with me now, kid. Come back to me. You can do it!”

The warmth expanded, moving from Justin’s hand up his arm. Brian could see the blue veins under his pale skin. He closed his eyes and pictured hot blood surging through Justin’s body. Blood and skin, tying him to life. Tying him to the Earth. 

The Void was empty, but Justin wasn’t empty. He was vital. Full of energy. Full of Power!

“Come back!” Brian called. “We’re Bound! Joined forever! As long as you’re far away, I’ll never be complete. Never be whole! There are still things I want to do in my life, Justin. And your life is only beginning. So find your way back to me. Here’s the path.” Brian held tightly to Justin’s right hand. “Through me. I know it’s dark, but you don’t need to see me. You can feel me! You can sense me! Right here! Justin? Can you hear me?”

And Justin stirred, his body arching, as if trying to lift itself up.

“That’s my boy!” Brian urged. “I know it’s difficult, but you’re stronger than the Void! The Void is nothing! It’s bullshit! It can’t hold you back – nothing can hold you back!”

Justin murmured. Not words, but moans. Sharp gasping sounds, like a person saved from drowning, trying to catch his breath. Or like someone in the throes of ecstasy.

Yes, blood was important. Hot blood was the start of everything. But another fluid was also essential. It was the key – the fundamental element.

The element that had Bound them together.

Brian took a deep breath. Now was the time. He reached down and stroked himself, thinking that he’d never felt less lustful in his entire life. But, to his surprise, his dick responded, swelling in his hand.

“Justin,” he said. “Take this. Like you took it the first time. Held it the first time. Remember?”

He guided Justin’s right hand, which was now full of warmth and life, to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it. And his cock jumped slightly at Justin’s touch, Justin’s grasp, for he closed his fingers around it, squeezing it gently.

“Harder,” Brian whispered. “Yes, that’s it!”

Brian put his right hand on Justin’s cock. It felt cool. Limp. He began to move his fist up and down its length. Then he bent over and took it into his mouth, sucking deeply.

In his hot mouth it slowly came alive. Justin groaned, louder now. And the more he groaned, the harder Brian sucked him, cupping Justin’s balls with both hands. Kneading life into them.

Now Brian was very hard himself, his cock swelling to its full nine inches.

“Fuck,” said Brian. “I need something. I need...”

But he looked over and saw a small ceramic jar on the bedside table. One of Queenie’s ointments. Brian picked it up and removed the top. It smelled soothing. And it was slick. He rubbed a little on his hand. Perfect. Gillian must have placed it there. That damned woman thought of everything! No wonder she was a witch!

Brian coated the length of his dick with the ointment. 

Now came the real test.

But how could he fuck someone who was in another world? Who couldn’t really respond?

Brian hesitated.

Justin opened his mouth. His lips were moving, as if trying to speak. But words were meaningless in the Void. Meaningless...

Brian put his face close to Justin’s, breathing hot breath on him. He touched his lips to Justin’s lips. Kissed him softly at first. Then kissed him again, more urgently. Desperately. As if everything depended on these kisses.

“Wake up!” Brian implored. “There’s a whole world out there, Justin! Your whole life still to live! For us to live!”

And Justin’s tongue reached out and touched Brian’s tongue. His arms lifted and wrapped around Brian’s neck, hanging on. 

Brian gently rolled him onto his back and lifted his legs. “That’s it!” said Brian, sliding his slippery fingers into Justin’s crack. Finding the place. Easing them inside.

Justin shuddered, but his eyes were still shut. He was still far away.

Brian eased his cock in, slowly. Very slowly. Justin’s hips moved ever so slightly, as if encouraging him. Brian drew back and then probed deeper with the next thrust. Then deeper still with the third.

Brian could feel the heat rising from both of their bodies. The blue glow that had pulsed from their hands spread over them, empowering them, kindling them. Brian began to thrust harder and deeper, while Justin clung to him.

“Come on, Justin!” Brian cried. “Come with me! I know you’re here! Here with me!”

Brian reared back, feeling the ache in his balls, feeling the need for release. Usually he could fuck and fuck and fuck, holding back until the other guy was begging for him to shoot. But he couldn’t hold back now. He pressed his forehead against Justin’s brow, trying to hold back.

Trying...

The entire room was suffused with blue, the air crackling as if charged with electricity. A gust of wind swept in through the window, which had been cracked open to let in fresh air. The window sash flew up, the curtains blowing wildly like white apparitions, and then the sash came down with a loud crash.

“Brian!” Justin gasped, his eyes flying open. “Now! Now!”

“Yes!” Brian slammed his body against Justin’s, finally letting go. The semen was released into Justin, hot and full of life. And a moment later Justin also came. Brian leaned down and caught into his mouth as much of Justin’s come as he could, swallowing it.

“Brian!” Justin cried out again. And then much softer, like a question: “Brian?”

Brian collapsed on top of his lover, half in exhaustion and half in relief. “Justin?”

“I’m here,” he breathed. “It.. it was so dark. And cold. I couldn’t find you! I tried to get to you, Brian, but I couldn’t move! I tried! I really tried!”

“It’s all right,” Brian whispered. “I’m here.” He rested his cheek gently against Justin’s. “And you’re back.”

“I’m back,” sighed Justin. “Back.”

“Yes,” said Brian, rubbing his face against Justin’s warm skin. Warm and alive and...

And that’s when he felt them. Running down Justin’s soft cheek in a small, wet trail.

Tears.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears.

“Tears!” Queenie marveled. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Gillian admitted. “I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never seen it happen before.”

The two women were sitting at Queenie’s kitchen table, drinking herbal tea and pondering the events of the previous night.

“What did Mrs. De Passe say?”

“She’s never seen it either,” said Gillian. “She’s heard the stories – we’ve all heard them. But hearing about something like that and actually seeing it are two different things.”

Queenie leaned towards Gillian and lowered her voice. “Does that mean Justin is... I mean, that he’s no longer... I mean, his Power... is it gone?”

“I said I don’t know!” Gillian flared. “After Brian called me into the room, I touched him and reached out to him. And he was there – completely and utterly there. And I felt his Power. Or I thought I did. What can I say? This is unprecedented, Auntie. The Elders will have to study Justin to understand what it means. But for now he’s still too weak. He needs to rest and get his strength back before he undergoes any further tests.”

“Besides, if he has lost his Powers, we wouldn’t want to upset the boy,” said Queenie, pouring another cup of camomile and hibiscus tea. “I know if it happened to me, I wouldn’t want to show my face to anyone. How could I live here in the Village if everyone knew? And you know everyone will know, Gil. Poor Justin! You can’t keep something that horrible a secret!”

“Maybe he could go up and live with Mother and Aunt Gwynyth in Salem?” Gillian mused.

“Or he could go back to Connecticut,” Queenie added. “Jennifer would probably be relieved if... if he was a mortal.”

“I can’t envision anything worse!” Gillian exclaimed. “Can you imagine knowing that you had the Power – and then you lost it? How could you survive that?”

“And what about Brian?” Queenie asked. “Now that we know he’s a warlock – and a very powerful warlock indeed! – will they still be Bound? Can a witch and a mortal truly be Bound?”

“There are so many things we don’t know,” Gillian conceded. “I hate to say it, but we need Nicky and Sidney Retlich to come back. I can’t agree with the way they tried to publish all of our secrets for any mere mortal to read, but I must admit that Retlich has done a lot of research about the history of witchcraft. There might well be information in his notes about cases like Justin’s. If only we could get in touch with them!”

“Have you tried Contacting Nicky?” Queenie poured more honey in her tea and stirred. 

“Yes, but he’s blocking me and without Pyewacket I can’t force a Contact,” Gillian sighed. “Mother’s tried, too, but Nicky obviously doesn’t want to speak to either of us.”

“You and Nicky didn’t exactly part on the best of terms,” Queenie pointed out.

“Don’t remind me!” said Gillian. “I’m still angry at Nicky, but he is my brother, after all. And we need him.”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Brian paused in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing Justin’s bathrobe, which was way too short on Brian for comfort, and his hair was damp from the shower. “But do you think I could get some coffee?”

“Certainly!” said Queenie, jumping up. “It’s been a long time since a gentleman stayed over, hasn’t it, Gil?”

“Queenie!” Gillian said sharply. “Don’t be vulgar!”

“It’s all right, Miss Holroyd,” said Brian. “This isn’t exactly a usual situation – at least it isn’t for me.”

“It’s not usual for anyone, Mr. Kinney,” said Gillian.

“Brian,” said Brian. “Please.”

“Yes, of course,” said Gillian. “Brian. And you must call me Gillian.”

Gillian didn’t want to be charmed by this... this person, but she was. She could see that whatever his family talent would turn out to be, he had a powerful personal charisma. Brian Kinney had certainly made the correct choice when he decided to be an actor.

“Here’s the coffee!” Queenie sang, placing the steaming cup in front of an empty chair. “I’m afraid it’s instant – is that satisfactory? We usually take tea.”

“Instant is fine,” said Brian. He hesitated for a moment, then sat uneasily at the kitchen table. He poured some sugar into the coffee, then some more. Then a little more. If ever he’d needed a sugar rush, it was this morning. “Justin is still asleep. I checked on him before I came in here.”

“He’ll undoubtedly sleep for hours,” said Gillian. “He’s been through an extremely taxing ordeal.”

“No shit!” said Brian. He slid his eyes at Justin’s Great Aunt. “I mean, I agree. Very taxing. So – the tears. Justin told me once that witches – or warlocks – can’t cry. What does it mean?”

“We don’t know,” said Queenie. “Probably that he’s lost his Powers. That’s what the old stories say.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” said Gillian, throwing Queenie a dark look. “None of us has ever dealt with someone who has returned from the Void before, so we don’t know what the side effects will be. This might be a temporary aberration.”

“Or he might be a mortal,” said Queenie. “I have nothing against mortals, but what a terrible fate! I think I’d kill myself rather than live with the shame.”

“Be quiet, Auntie!” Gillian commanded.

“You think Justin might try to kill himself?” Brian said in alarm.

“No,” said Gillian, glaring daggers at the old woman. “Queenie is being a trifle melodramatic.”

“I don’t think he’s lost anything,” said Brian, shaking his head. “Last night – I could feel the Power surging through both of us. It wasn’t just me. I know it was Justin, too. We were equals.”

“No offense, Brian,” said Gillian. “But you are hardly an expert in the workings of Power!”

“And no offense, Gillian,” said Brian. “But you aren’t the one who flew all the way here from Philadelphia. And you aren’t the one who rescued Justin from the Void. So don’t lecture me on Power or witchcraft or any of that crap. It seems to me that you witches are all talk and very little action!”

“That’s the problem with witchcraft,” said Queenie. “None of us are very good at it. Except Gillian. And Mrs. De Passe. And my sister Morgan. But the rest of us – well, it’s not like the good old days.”

“Will you shut up, Queenie!” Gillian rubbed her forehead. This disaster was giving her the worst headache of her life.

“Oh, dear!” Queenie sniffed. “I always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Please excuse me, Mr. Kinney. I’m going to look in on the poor boy.”

“Queenie talks too much, Brian,” said Gillian after her aunt had left the room. “But I admit that what she says is true. We witches are very scattered these days. We don’t have the Power we once had and what little we do have....” She shrugged. “Most of us are afraid to use it. Even I’m afraid to exercise my full Power. You never know what the consequences will be. But Justin wasn’t afraid. He plunged ahead and tried to do a spell he wasn’t ready for. He’s a brave boy, but it was a stupid attempt. And you see what happened to him.”

“But what if the spell had worked?” Brian asked.

Gillian blinked. “I... I don’t know. But I doubt he could have Transported you. He doesn’t have that kind of Power.”

“Then how did I do it?” Brian demanded. “And I don’t know a fucking thing about witchcraft. But I did it! I’m here. And I saved Justin when none of you were able to – all without any of your spells or mumbo jumbo!”

“I know,” said Gillian. “I don’t understand it. The only explanation is that you were born a very powerful warlock, from a very powerful family. But to grow into an adult and not to know what you are... I can’t fathom it.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about my family,” Brian acknowledged. “But the idea that they’re witches – it makes no sense. Why my mother is a devout Catholic, even a religious nut, if you want to know the truth. And she can be a real bitch, but that’s a far cry from being an actual witch.”

“Try to remember,” said Gillian. “Did she ever talk about her family?”

“Never,” said Brian.

“What about outward signs? Did she ever cry? Or blush? Did she do strange things at night, especially during the full moon?”

Brian shook his head. “I have no idea. I can’t think of a time when she ever cried. And I never cried as a child, either. I was proud of that. That I was strong. That I never let anyone, like my old man, get to me!”

“Your father – you didn’t get along with him?”

“No,” said Brian flatly. “Sometimes I think he hated me! It was like...” Brian stopped, his face suddenly changing, as if coming to a realization.

“Like what?” Gillian nudged.

“Like I wasn’t really his son,” Brian said slowly. “Like I was... from somewhere else.”

“A changeling,” Gillian whispered.

Brian swallowed. “What’s that?”

“Someone who isn’t what he seems to be,” said Gillian. “There’s only one way to know. You must go to your mother and ask her. It’s the only way to know the truth.”

“I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother in years!” Brian huffed. “How can I show up out of the blue and ask her if she’s a witch? What if she won’t tell me?”

“Then,” said Gillian. “You’ll have to use your Power to Compel her. Because, Brian, you must know the truth. And you must find out sooner rather than later.”

Brian stared into his now cold cup of coffee. “I was afraid you were going to say that!”


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian confronts his mother.

“You’re where?” R.J. exclaimed. “And you say you’re on your way to where?” It was Sunday morning and he was in his hotel room in Philadelphia, nursing a lousy hangover. The last thing he’d expected was a call from Brian – in New York City!

“To Pittsburgh,” said Brian. “Now stop screaming and listen to me.”

“Why the hell are you going to Pittsburgh? They’re starting rehearsals for the play at the Martin Beck tomorrow and then previews begin on Friday! You need to stay there and not be in goddamn Pittsburgh!”

“Don’t have a conniption, R.J.,” Brian stated. “I’ll be back tomorrow night or Tuesday at the latest. I need to take care of some emergency family business.”

“Family business! What kind of family business?” R.J. demanded.

“Private family stuff. It’s important or I wouldn’t be going there. But I need to do this.”

“Well...”

“It’s only for a day. I’ll be back in plenty of time. You know I have this play down cold. I don’t need any extra rehearsal.”

R.J. bolted down the rest of his coffee. He needed more caffeine to deal with this. And some hair of the dog to quell his hangover. “Tell me, Brian, how the hell did you get to New York anyway? The last time I saw you was at the theater – in Philly!”

“I had to get to New York quickly,” said Brian, leaping over precisely how he’d gotten here. “Like I said, it was an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?” R.J. asked suspiciously.

“Trust me,” said Brian. “I can’t tell you any more. But I would like you to do me one favor. Go to my hotel and pack all my stuff and check me out. Then bring my suitcase back to New York with you. My theater trunk went with the others. Can you take care of that for me, please?”

“You left for New York without your suitcase?” said R.J. “Brian, what the hell is going on?”

“I need to go now,” said Brian. “My train is ready to leave. I’ll see you when I get back. Later, R.J..”

Brian hung up the pay phone and walked down the concourse to the train. He was travelling light with only a small overnight case with a clean shirt and a change of underwear and socks. And a copy of ‘On the Road.’

The train was quiet and uncrowded. He found a seat by himself in the club car and read the ‘Sunday New York Times.’ He noted a large ad touting the new play starring Brent Pearson opening on May 16. His name wasn’t in the ad – obviously. He was a nobody. But not for long.

It was Sunday, so he couldn’t order a drink on the train. Instead he bought a sandwich and a soda and, with a red pencil in his hand, opened up ‘On the Road,’ marking every scene that featured the character Dean Moriarty.

There were a lot of scenes that featured Dean Moriarty.

Justin had given him the book weeks ago, but he’d only skimmed it before. He knew Kerouac and his crowd – they all lived in the Village and hung out at the same bars and cafes – but he’d always thought of them as a bunch of poseurs at best and losers at worst. Admittedly a couple of the guys were hot in a dirty, low-down way. Kerouac was a handsome guy, but he didn’t take care of himself and was quickly going to seed. Brian had made it with his buddy, Ginsberg, at the Everard Baths once. He wouldn’t even have remembered it if Allen hadn’t tried to hook up with him the next time he saw him at the Liberty Cafe. But Brian had blown him off – he didn’t like reconnecting with old tricks and Allen seemed the clingy type. That’s the last thing he needed – a clingy poet!

The book was a disjointed mess, but Brian could understand its appeal, especially to the young and impressionable, like Justin. It barreled along at a breakneck pace with an energy that wouldn’t quit. Brian knew Kerouac was an amphetamine popper and it seemed obvious he’d written this piece of crap in a speed-induced frenzy. And that’s the way it would need to be played in the film – in a frenzy. Dean Moriarty was a speed-freak’s vision of sex and action.

He’d never seen the guy Kerouac based the character on, Neal something or other. The dope was that this Neal was a would-be cowboy who worked on the railroad and lived out west in Idaho or Colorado or some backwoods place like that. Brian knew the type – big, dumb, and well-hung. That Jack Kerouac was madly in love with the guy wasn’t in doubt for an instant. It was on every page of the novel. Everyone said that Allen Ginsberg was in love with the guy, too. They all were, guys and girls alike.

He could do that. Play the guy everyone was in love with. He’d been playing that role since he was 13 years old. Piece of cake. 

Brian thought about the way this guy would walk. The way he’d light a cigarette. The way he’d look at his prey, at an angle, like he’d fuck them on the spot if he wasn’t at risk of getting arrested. He thought about the way James Dean conveyed who his character was with one lift of his eyebrow. Or the way Brando showed how he was ripped apart inside with the hunch of his shoulders. I can do that, Brian thought. Find the key to this guy and make him work. 

By the time the train pulled into the station in Pittsburgh, Brian had worked his way through the book once and was now going through it again, making detailed notes in the margins. When he went in for the screen test with Charles De La Tour and Donnie Schwartz he’d have the fucking thing memorized! He wouldn’t need to read a script – he’d BE Dean Moriarty!

Brian walked out to the taxi stand in front of the station and got a cab. No more waiting for a fucking bus or walking everywhere for this boy. He’d left the Pitts last time with his thumb out because he couldn’t even afford bus fare to New York. And he’d vowed he wouldn’t return unless it was in a snazzy late model car – a red one! A convertible! Well, a cab wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned it, but it wasn’t too bad.

The old neighborhood looked the same. A little cleaner, maybe, but otherwise unchanged. Working class. Irish. A few more cars in the drives and on the street. Kids playing in the yards. Young families of the men who worked in the bustling foundries and steel mills. His old house was shabbier than the rest, the lawn ragged, the paint peeling. A typical widow’s house, with no man to keep it up.

“Brian!” Joan Kinney gaped at her son as if seeing a ghost.

“Yeah, Ma, it’s me,” he said. And he walked into the house. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, wiping her chapped hands on her apron. 

“Nice to see you, too,” Brian said. “I’d ask for a drink, but I’m sure you don’t have any booze in the house – at least not for company. So I’ll take coffee. Black, with plenty of sugar.”

“Of course,” said Joan, almost running into the kitchen to get it.

Brian glanced around the room. A lot of religious pictures. Jesus with his burning heart. The Virgin Mary floating on pink clouds. St. Joseph looking weary. A wedding photo of his sister and her dumbstruck husband. Pictures of two slackjawed urchins he assumed were his nephews. He knew his sister was married and had kids. She’d tracked him down in New York a few years ago when the old man got sick, trying to get him to come home and make peace before the goat kicked the bucket. Of course Brian had refused. But Claire always seemed to find him when she needed something and she was a valuable source of family information. That’s how Brian had known his mother was still in the same house. That even though his father was dead, nothing had really changed with her. And now he was seeing it for himself.

He sat down in the old man’s chair. It was the first time he’d ever sat there.

It felt like a regular chair. That was disappointing.

“Brian, what are doing?” Joan came in carrying a tray with the coffee cup and sugar, like he was company.

“I’m the man of the family now, so I’m trying out my new throne.”

Joan took a scandalized breath. “That’s not funny!”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Brian poured sugar in the cup and stirred. He should have brought a flask with some Bourbon in it to add to the coffee, but he’d been in too much of a hurry. 

“So,” said Joan, sitting primly on the sofa. “Why am I being honored with this visit after so many years?”

“Honored?” Brian nodded. “No, the honor is all mine. But I’d be honored if I could get a few facts from you. Because it’s about time you told me the truth, Ma.”

Joan’s eyes darted around the room nervously. “The truth? I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” said Brian, speaking slowly but firmly. “The truth about who we are. About what I am! Because you must have known I’d find out eventually. You must have known that one day everything would come crashing down right on top of me!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Joan.

“No idea?” Brian stood up and began to pace back and forth. “No fucking idea?”

“Brian! Your language!” Joan scolded.

“That’s all you care about? My language?” Brian bent down and got close to his mother’s face. He could see a whisper of her former beauty there beneath the gray hair and deep lines that etched her forehead. He suddenly had a flash of memory of her bright auburn hair and strong features, looking at him as a child. Staring at him, as if wondering what it was she had given birth to.

A changeling. That’s what Gillian Holroyd had called him.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Brian,” said Joan, her voice unwavering, even defiant. “There’s nothing I can tell you. There’s nothing to tell! No secrets! No so-called truth! I don’t know where you got any idea that I’m keeping something from you.”

“No, Ma?” said Brian, his voice low and commanding. His Compelling voice. “Then let’s begin at the beginning, shall we? At least at my beginning. Tell me the truth – for once! Just who IS my father? Because it damn well wasn’t Jack Kinney! And now I want to know who it really was!”


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joanie's story.

“Brian, don’t ask me such questions.” Joan pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

“Don’t screw around with me, Ma,” said Brian. He grabbed her wrist and yanked away the handkerchief. “See? Dry! No fucking tears. Because you can’t cry, Mother! And neither can I! And why is that?”

“This is crazy! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Joan spat back.

“Yes, you do,” said Brian. “Now tell me the truth. Or do I have to make you do it? Because I can make you. I can Compel you. And you know I can!”

Joan stared at her son in horror. “How do you know that word? Who told you to say that?”

“I know more than just the word,” Brian replied. “I know how to do it. I can do other things, too. And I don’t need a book of spells or magic words, either. I can do it just by wanting to. Like I Transported myself from Philadelphia to New York with only the desire and the need to be with my lover, who was in terrible trouble. One moment I was in one city, then POW! The next moment in another. That’s when I really believed what Gillian Holroyd told me was true – that I was a warlock. And that means you must be a witch!”

“Gillian Holroyd?” Joan’s voice turned dark. “The Holroyds are involved in this? I should have known. They’ve always been troublemakers.” 

“Then you do know the Holroyds?” Brian prodded.

Joan swallowed. “I... I may have heard of them.”

“But that name would only mean something to another witch, wouldn’t it?” Brian crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Such... creatures might... exist. They have certain powers,” Joan admitted. “But that has nothing to do with me!”

“No?”

“And Transporting?” Joan snatched her handkerchief back. “That’s impossible!”

“That’s what they told me,” said Brian. “But I did it anyway. Gillian said only an extremely powerful warlock could do such a thing. That’s why you have to tell me the truth! Who are you, really? And who is my father? I need to know.”

“Don’t, Brian!” Joan cried. “Don’t make me tell you. I... I never wanted you to be touched by... by my sin! By my shameful life! When you were born I hated you!”

“I thought so,” Brian sniffed. “That explains the tender loving care I received as a child.” 

“No!” Joan insisted. “I loved you! I only hated what you represented. You were such a beautiful baby. So innocent. I thought I could protect you from... from them! It was my burden to bear. And as you grew I tried to protect you from the truth – and from Jack. Because he suspected something was wrong with you. And as you grew older he began to realize that you weren’t... what you seemed. You weren’t... normal. He lashed out at you because you were... were a...”

“A queer?” Brian provided the word. “Yes, I know that! But did he know there was more to it? That you were something other than you seemed, too?”

“No,” said Joan. “He never suspected that. How could he? Who would believe such a thing?”

“No one!” Brian laughed bitterly. “Did he know I wasn’t his real son?”

Joan squirmed. “He suspected. But he couldn’t be sure. That’s why he resented you. And he resented me, too. And he took it out on both of us.”

“What about Claire? Is she different, too?”

Joan shook her head. “No. She’s completely Jack’s child. I was afraid she would inherit the Power from my family, but if she did, it’s so weak that it’s never manifested itself. But my Power was always weak. That’s why I hoped it would remain dormant in you. But... but I knew that was a faint hope. Not with the way you were born.”

“Tell me.” Brian knelt down next to his mother. “How was I born? What is it about me? I know I’m a warlock, but there’s something else. What is it?”

Joan twisted on the sofa, as if she could somehow break away from her son’s interrogation. But she could not. The secrets she’d kept for thirty years could be kept no longer.

“I was born in a castle in the West of Ireland,” she began. “We were an ancient family who came over with the Normans. A family of Power, known for our potions and healings. When I was a child my older sister went to London and she had much success there in occult circles. She mingled with famous poets and writers like Yeats and Conan Doyle. Then she went to New York and moved in fashionable circles there as well. She told fortunes and held seances and ‘played’ at being a witch. Little did the mortals she dealt with realize that Bianca actually WAS a witch.”

“Bianca?” The name aroused something in Brian’s memory.

“Yes,” said Joan. “Bianca De Passe. And my name was Johanna De Passe.”

“De Passe!” Brian exclaimed. “Gillian mentioned a Bianca De Passe. She’s one of the Elders who was trying to help Justin.”

“Yes,” said Joan. “Bianca would be an Elder now. She probably thinks she’s the Queen of the Witches holding court. That’s the way she always was, even when she was young. Who is this Justin?” 

Brian held his head up high. “He’s my lover. Gillian Holroyd is his cousin.”

“That means Queenie Holroyd must be his great-aunt. And Morgan and Gwynyth, too.” Joan waved her hand dismissively. “The Holroyds! They always were pushy riff-raff. I can’t believe my son would get involved with one.”

“Justin and I are Bound, Ma,” said Brian.

Joan shook her head mournfully. “This is worse than I could have imagined. Everything I worked for is for naught!”

“I don’t care what you worked for,” said Brian. “I want the whole story.”

Joan sighed and continued. “I grew up in Inishkill Castle. That was the De Passe family seat. But when Mother died I did what many Irish, witch and mortal alike, did in those days – I took a ship from Cobh and joined my sister in New York. But I had very little Power and didn’t fit into Bianca’s exclusive circle. I was unhappy in New York. Lonely. I began going to a little church in the Village to hear Mass. I wanted to live away from... from that sinful life! I knew that if I prayed and lived a good life, I could be saved! I put away some money and escaped from Bianca. I bought a train ticket and it took me to a city I picked out at random – Pittsburgh. I found a church and a kindly priest helped me get a job in a shop. That’s where I met Jack. He was handsome then. Fun-loving. And he was Irish and a Catholic. I thought he was the perfect man.”

Brian snorted at that. “Perfect? Jack Kinney? Sure!”

“You didn’t know him then!” Joan said sharply. “He changed later when he began drinking. And when times got hard. We married and I had Claire. We... we had to get married. That was a sin! I tried to resist, but I was caught up in Hot Blood, that curse of all witches! Jack resented me then, but he married me anyway. He took a job with the railroad and he’d often be gone for weeks at a time. Sometimes I wondered if he’d ever come home at all. Once he didn’t return for months. Claire was small and I was running out of money. I wrote to Bianca and she sent me train fare. I packed and we went to New York. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice.”

“So you returned to the witch life?”

“No!” Joan maintained. “I didn’t! I was living with Bianca, but... but I still went to Mass every day. And I took Claire, too. I didn’t want her touched by... by that horrible life! Then, one day, a man came to Bianca’s house – she had moved to Brooklyn and bought a large house there with the money she’d made from her occult practices. This man was an Irishman. Tall and extremely handsome, with dark hair and a deep, lovely voice. His name was Padraig Conn. I... I was dazzled by him. Everyone who met him was. He had great Power – it radiated from him – and that made me afraid.”

“Was that the man?” Brian held his breath. “My father?”

“He wasn’t a man!” Joan returned.

“Warlock, then!” said Brian, impatiently.

“Yes, he was a warlock,” said Joan. “But he was more than that. Have you ever heard of the... the White Company?”

“No.” Brian shook his head. “What’s that?”

Joan shuddered. “The Sídhe. The People of the Goddess. Some call them the Fair Folk because they are so beautiful to behold that no mortal – or witch, for that matter – can resist them. Padraig’s father, Brian Og, was a very great warlock of the last century. A sorcerer. He and Padraig had Power few other witches could even imagine. And Padraig got that Power not only through the Conns, his witch family, but through his mother. For she was one of the Fee. A bean sídhe, his father’s leanan sídhe. That means a fairy woman, a fairy lover. She lived with her sorcerer lover for a year and a day before she returned to the Other World. But in that year she gave him great Power – and she also gave him a son, Padraig. This was the warlock who came to Bianca’s house. And he was looking for...” Joan paused, her voice failing.

“Looking for what?” Brian almost shook her.

“For a son,” Joan whispered. “He wanted to create a son who would be something very special. A Midsummer Child. That’s the most powerful witch there can be. A witch who can transcend Time and Space. Who can make magic only with thoughts, with no need for spells or potions. No Midsummer Child had been created in generations, but Padraig believed he was powerful enough to make one.”

Brian sat back on his heels, his heart pounding. “But he couldn’t do it on his own.”

“No,” said Joan. “He needed a mate. A witch from a powerful family. Someone young and strong. And... and beautiful. When he saw me, he took my hand and said, ‘You are the one, my leannan – my sweetheart. Together we will shake the fabric of the world!’”

“Holy shit!” Brian whispered.

“Shit doesn’t even begin to cover it, let alone holy,” said Joan. And she almost smiled.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian witnesses the primal moment.

“And you went along with this nutty scheme?” Brian asked. “So much for Saint Joan!”

“You have no idea the way it was,” Joan retorted. “So you have no right to judge! I was under a Glamour – a spell of attraction. It’s much more powerful than a mere Infatuation. And when it’s cast by a warlock who is half-Fee – how was I supposed to withstand such a thing?” Her eyes gazed into space, as if she was still caught by the warlock’s dark charm. “Bianca kept me in isolation for weeks, waiting until the Summer Solstice. During that time she and the rest of her coven raised their Power to its greatest height, bringing me into the rhythm of the Four Corners of the Year. Stirring my blood and my body to be ready for what was about to happen. Making me into the perfect vessel to receive the Midsummer Child.”

Brian recoiled. “That’s disgusting!”

“You only say that because you’re a man!” Joan snapped. “A man who doesn’t care for women! You can’t understand what it means to bring a child into the world. You can’t know what it’s like to be a father!”

“I may not know now,” Brian said somberly. “But I will soon.”

Joan glared at Brian. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to be a father sometime this summer. I got a girl pregnant.”

Joan rolled her eyes. “Men are animals!”

“Amen to that!” Brian barked. 

They sat in the stillness of the room, the clock ticking.

“Why the Midsummer Child?” Brian said finally. “What does that mean?”

“Midsummer Day. The Summer Solstice,” said Joan. “The longest day of the year, when the sun is at his strongest. Don’t you know anything?”

“No,” said Brian. “I don’t! How would I know any of this?”

Joan twisted her handkerchief nervously. “The Four Corners of the Year are the Summer and Winter Solstice and the Autumn and Spring Equinox. Covens meet every full moon to perform the basic rituals, but it is on these four holidays when real magic occurs. The curtain between This World and the Other World is at its thinnest at Solstice. That’s when energy can be tapped from the Other Side. And when one of the witches is half-Fee, that is real Power!”

“So what about this Midsummer Child?” Brian demanded.

“I’m coming to that,” said Joan. “The strongest ritual of all is the Great Rite. When two witches make love under the full moon and mingle their Power together with their coupling. Sometimes children are born from a Great Rite. That’s considered a blessing. Such a child will be a very strong witch. But when the Great Rite is performed on June 21st, at the Summer Solstice, that is done only rarely because the Power is too overwhelming for most witches. And if a child is born then – that’s the most powerful witch of all!” 

Brian shivered. “Sounds a bit hit-and-miss to me.”

Joan stared down at her hands, considering. “Nothing in magic is hit-and-miss, as you say. At least not when you are dealing with Power at that level. A Midsummer Child must be planned for. Not only must he or she be conceived on Midsummer Day with all the correct rituals performed, but the child must then be born exactly nine months later, on the First Day of Spring. In ancient times, such a child was born to be the King or Queen. Their birth was the Birth of the Year. Without a Midsummer Child there would be no spring and everything would be endless winter. That meant the end of everything. Or so the people believed back then.” 

Joan paused for a few moments, licking her lips.

Brian wanted to get up and leave. He didn’t want to believe his mother, but he knew, deep inside, that she was finally telling him the truth. “Go on. I want to know everything.”

Joan nodded. “Midsummer Day came and I was dressed in white and crowned with a garland of flowers. Bianca and her coven drove me to a place far out in the country. Padraig was waiting there. He had his half-brother, Niall, with him – a dark, sober-faced warlock who was another son of Brian Og by a mortal woman. They had prepared the circle, sweeping away the leaves and drawing the pentagram on the grass with a hazel wand. They took off my white shift and lay me down in the middle of the circle. Then, as the moon rose, they began the Ritual. Chanting. Dancing. Burning herbs. Raising Power. I was dizzy with the scent of the herbs! Dizzy with the sound of the spells! And then – Padraig was there! Naked! Six and a half feet tall, his chest hairy, like a great beast. And with a huge cock! I stared at it and it rose up at me. He spoke to me in Gaelic and also in the tongue of the sídhe, which sounds like the singing of birds. And he took me there, in the center of the circle!”

Brian leaned back, chilled to his core. He closed his eyes and he was there, too, watching from above. He could see the scene. The forest. The circle. Hear the singing. And then he watched the moment of his conception. The beautiful young witch, lifting her legs, and the huge warlock taking his hard cock in his hand. Heaving himself inside of her.

He felt a jolt and opened his eyes, crying out.

“You saw it!” Joan breathed. “I know you did! You were there. The Midsummer Child can transcend Time and Space. It’s true!” Joan buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Goddess!”

Brian was shaken, even more than he’d been by Transporting or grappling with the Void. This was personal. His very origin.

“What happened then?” he asked.

“The next day, when I awoke, I knew I was pregnant,” Joan said slowly. “I could feel you inside me. And I was terrified. I knew that when you were born Padraig and his brother would take you away, probably back to Ireland. I didn’t know what they were going to do with you, but whatever it was, I knew it was evil! Bianca kept checking on me, watching me. I pretended I was tired and still under the Glamour. After three days I saw my chance. I took Claire, who was only a small child who didn’t understand what was happening, and I ran away. I went to that little church in Greenwich Village and told the priest that evil people were seeking me. He knew about the witches who lived in the Village, so he helped me get back to Pittsburgh. Jack was waiting at home. He didn’t ask any questions, but took us in. And we made love that same night and every night for many days afterwards. When I told Jack I was pregnant he believed it was his. And I tried to believe it, too.”

“And you’re sure it isn’t true?” Brian pressed. “That I’m not Jack Kinney’s son?”

Joan narrowed her eyes at her son. “You already know the answer to that! When Jack wanted to name you Brian, I shuddered, because that was Padraig’s father’s name. It was as if some force was compelling Jack, too. A force none of us could control.”

“Wait!” Brian frowned. “Didn’t you say this Midsummer Child had to be born on the First Day of Spring? Isn’t that in March?”

“March 20th,” Joan confirmed.

“Well, then,” said Brian, standing up. “That settles it. I was born on April 10th.”

“No,” Joan whispered. “You weren’t. You were born at dawn on March 20th, just as the sun was rising. Exactly the way Padraig had planned.”

“But I have a copy of my birth certificate. I needed it when I registered for the Draft when I was 18.”

“I lied about your birth date.”

Brian sat back down.

“That’s how I tried to protect you,” said Joan. “A few weeks before you were due to be born, I began to be afraid. I was sure Bianca or Padraig would appear to claim you. I told Jack that I felt sickly. Our parish priest arranged for me to go to the country, to a farm in the hills east of Pittsburgh. Pregnant women and ill people often went to the country to escape the dirt and smoke of the mills. I stayed with a Polish woman who was a midwife – most babies were born at home in those days, especially to working people. The woman spoke very little English, but she knew what she was doing. And you were born just as the sun rose on the 20th of March. Your eyes were open and you looked right at me. You were what we called in the Old Country a Changeling Child – fussy, demanding, knowing, with an other-worldly beauty that captivated everyone. And that’s when I knew you really were a Changeling.”

“That’s what Gillian Holroyd said. That I was a Changeling. What the fuck is that? Something else I have to worry about?”

“A Changeling is a child of the Fee. They steal a human baby from the cradle and replace it with one of their own. Such a child is never at peace in the human world or with its human family. That was you! You didn’t belong where you were. You weren’t my husband’s son. And you weren’t mine, either. You belonged to Padraig and his world! The minute you were born I knew there was no escaping Fate! I could only pray to postpone it. I waited at the farm until well into April. Then I returned to Pittsburgh with you in my arms. Jack didn’t question anything – at least not then. We went to the courthouse and recorded your birth – April 10, 1927. Then I sent a copy to Bianca with a letter telling her there was no Midsummer Child. That the Ritual hadn’t worked. And that I wanted no further contact with her or anyone else from that life for as long as I lived. I never heard back.”

“And she bought that?” Brian found it difficult to believe that a woman as determined as Bianca De Passe would take her sister at her word – or believe a flimsy piece of paper.

“She must have,” said Joan. “For years I lived in fear. Every minute you were out of my sight I was afraid you’d been taken. Every time I saw a tall, dark man, I thought it was Padraig. But it never was. I never saw Padraig again. I assume he returned to Ireland or perhaps went elsewhere to try to get a son. You know the rest. My life was far from happy or untroubled. And you...” she shrugged. “You left as soon as you were able. I could do no more. I knew you were headed for a life of evil and sin. It’s your birthright. So what are you, Brian? A thief? A con artist? How do you use your Power over people?”

“I’m an actor, Ma,” said Brian. “And in the near future I might be a movie star.”

“Acting? Vanity!” cried Joan. “All is vanity! I suppose you are going to go looking for your father now.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Brian admitted. “But whatever I do, at least I know the truth.”

“Little good it’ll do you,” Joan sniffed. “It’s not too late to throw yourself on the mercy of Our Lord and pray to be saved!”

“Like you’ve been saved, Ma?” Brian asked. “It seems to me that you’re already living in a Hell on earth – a Hell of your own making. And I don’t plan on joining you there!”


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian returns to New York.

Brian returned to New York just in time for the first rehearsal at the Martin Beck. He came in, exhausted and disheveled, straight from the train.

“What the hell happened to you?” Brent smirked. “You look like you had a hard night.”

“I had to go home,” Brian said shortly. “Family emergency.”

“Oh,” Brent said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. Is someone sick?”

“Yes,” said Brian. But he didn’t offer any more information.

Brent turned away. He always felt unnerved around Brian. He was powerfully attracted to him, but there was a wall around Brian that couldn’t be breached. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” Brian’s expression was cloaked. “Nothing.”

The rehearsal went without incident. At this point the production was ready to go – Melvin tweaked some of the blocking to fit the new stage, but otherwise there was nothing major. After some brief notes, the actors were dismissed.

“Would you like to go for drink?” Brent suggested. He’d noticed that R.J. Rosenblum was nowhere in sight, so he made his move. “You look like you could use one.”

“I’ll take a rain check,” said Brian. “I’m tired.”

“Sure. Another time.” Brent licked his lips. “I mean that, Bri. I heard you did great when those producers were in to see the show in Philly. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I did my best.” Saturday night’s performance seemed a lifetime ago, so much had happened since then.

“You’re going to Hollywood,” Brent stated. There was no doubt in his mind. And yet he didn’t feel jealous. That was odd. It was as if he and Brian were on two completely different levels. They would never be in competition for roles in films – they were too different in style and too far apart in age – but it was more than that. Brent understood that his career was on the way down, sliding into playing fathers and character roles, while Brian’s was just beginning its inevitable rise.

“I might.” Brian hesitated. “I want to.”

“You’re going to make it,” said Brent, surprising himself. “Don’t forget me when you get to the top. I might need a job!”

Brian gave him the hint of a smile. “I won’t forget. I’m like an elephant – I never forget.”

Brent raised an eyebrow. “That’s not all that’s like an elephant, Bri!”

“Flatterer,” Brian snorted. “I have to hit the road. See you tomorrow.”

Brian left the theater and paused to light a cigarette. It had been raining earlier, but the weather was clearing. He noticed a slender young man leaning against the corner of the theater, as if he were waiting for someone. He looked at Brian intently with light blue eyes. Uncanny eyes. Brian knew that look. He frowned and moved on. He didn’t have time for that stuff.

Brian walked up to Times Square and caught a cab. He could afford to take taxis now: he’d gotten a small raise when they’d given him the part of the brother and he was going to be living rent-free in R.J.’s casting couch apartment until he found a place of his own.

Or until he left for California.

But if he went to California, what about Justin? 

How could he leave New York without Justin? Because he couldn’t take him, that much was clear.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut. What the fuck was he going to do?

“Here you are, mac,” said the cabbie. Brian thrust a few bills into the man’s hand and got out in front of Gillian’s shop on MacDougal Street. It was already getting dark.

A woman in a green velvet cape was coming out the front door. She had garishly dyed red hair and was carrying an old-fashioned carpetbag.

Bianca De Passe. 

Brian knew it was her in an instant. His mother’s sister. His aunt.

“Mrs. De Passe?”

“Yes?” she said in a drawling and exaggerated British accent. Bianca De Passe had a flirtatious and flamboyant manner, but it was obviously that her sister, Johanna, had been the beauty of the family. No wonder Padraig Conn had chosen her to be his mother.

“You don’t know me but...”

“Yes, I do know you.” The woman looked up at him, her heavily mascaraed eyes shining. “You and the Holroyd boy are Bound. Gillian told me your name is Brian, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re my nephew.” She set down the carpetbag and took his hand. She had long, tapered fingers ending in red-painted talons. “Yes, I can feel it. I knew you would come to me one day, but I never thought it would be under such extraordinary circumstances!”

“Then you knew about me?” asked Brian in surprise.

“Of course!” said Bianca. “You don’t think Johanna fooled me for a moment, do you? She always was a naive, feckless creature. You have been to see her, have you not? What did she say?”

“She wasn’t very happy to see me,” Brian admitted. “But she told me the whole story. And why she ran away.”

“Such a foolish and headstrong girl!” Bianca clucked. “Making everything so much more difficult than it had to be. But she wanted to do things her way. And she told you about your birth, did she?”

“Yes,” said Brian, warily. His aunt seemed so matter-of-fact about things that were beyond the pale. Things that, to Brian, should seem impossible. And yet they were now his reality.

“She told you a fine story, I’m sure,” Bianca continued. “But I’m also certain she didn’t tell you the entire story. Johanna only tells the parts of the story that suit her purposes and make her seem like the heroine in a tawdry Victorian melodrama. Believe me, my dear nephew, there’s more – so much more!”

“But what about my father?” Brian asked. That’s the part of the tale he most wanted to know.

“Your father!” Bianca sighed. “A lovely man and a powerful one! But there’s no time right now! I must go home and consult some of my books about the Holroyd boy’s interesting case. One day we shall sit down and have a long talk, you and I.” Bianca patted his hand. “Go upstairs. The boy has been asking for you.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s... healing,” said Bianca, tentatively. “He’s back in this realm and that’s the most important victory. But it will be a long process if he’s ever to be fully recovered – if he ever is.”

That sounded ominous to Brian. “And what about the tears? I thought witches can’t cry. What does it mean?”

Bianca frowned. “I don’t know, my dear. None of us know. We must take things slowly. One step at a time, as they say! Now you hurry upstairs and see him. That will surely do him a world of good. Adieu!”

Brian went inside and up the stairs to Queenie’s apartment, while Bianca de Passe watched him. He was a beautiful man! But she hadn’t expected anything less.

“The Midsummer Child!” she said to herself. “I knew eventually he would return to our world! This quite changes everything. Ah, well! I suppose there’s no use in contacting Padraig. I’m sure he’s been watching his son for years. It wouldn’t be like Padraig Conn to let something that important pass his vigorous scrutiny. But I wish he’d let me know about these things in advance. I do detest surprises! But I fear the real surprise will be for my poor, dear nephew! Poor, dear, lovely Brian!”


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing.

“Justin?”

He opened his eyes, slowly. Very slowly. Even the dim light from the shaded lamp was painful to his aching eyes.

“Brian. I thought I’d dreamed you.”

“Maybe you did. But I’m here now. How do you feel?”

“So tired. And weak. I don’t know why I feel so weak.”

“You need to get your rest. No, don’t try to sit up. Do you want another pillow?”

“No, I’m fine. How long have you been here?”

“Not long. I had rehearsal, but I came over as soon as I could.”

“What day is it? I can’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter what day it is. What matters is that you’re here.”

“Here? Where else would I be?”

“Nowhere important.” There was a pause. “Do you remember anything about... what you tried to do?”

The hurt. Thinking hurt. “I don’t know. I wanted you to come to me. And you’re here. But... I thought I was dreaming. Dreaming that I was lost. It was dark. It was... cold. So cold! Ah, it hurts!”

“Stop! Justin! Don’t think about it!”

“But it seems so real! The darkness...”

“I said not to think about it.”

“Where’s Ethan? Is he all right? And... and Pyewacket?”

“They’re both fine. Ethan’s fine and the cat’s fine. And I’m fine, too. See? Take my hand. Solid as a rock!”

“Then you’re not a dream?”

“I can be! But not tonight. Tonight I’m real. Or as real as I can ever be.”

“I’m cold. Is it cold in here?”

“Not really, but if you feel cold...”

“I felt a freezing wind. Like... nothingness. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t scream. Except... I felt you. I tried to cry out to you! But I was afraid you couldn’t hear me!”

“I heard you. I heard you calling. And I came to you. Do you remember that?”

“I... I think I remember. I’m not sure. I thought that was part of the dream.”

“No, it wasn’t a dream. Squeeze my hand. See? It isn’t a dream now, either.”

“I’m so cold. I can’t get warm.”

“I’ll warm you. Just a moment. Let me make sure the door is closed. You wouldn’t want your aunt or your cousin walking in and finding me taking off my clothes. What would they think?”

“I think they’d be jealous. Anyone would be jealous.”

“Move over. That’s it. This bed isn’t very big, is it?”

“No, but it’s big enough for now. You were here before. With me. Weren’t you?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember? You called me and I came.”

“It hurts to remember.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“And you say that Ethan is okay? And Pyewacket?”

“I said they’re fine.”

“Oh. Right. We tried to Summon you. To bring you to me.”

“I know. And here I am.”

“Ethan didn’t think it would work. There was so much smoke! And then a loud noise... And a light that was blinding!”

“Stop! There’s no reason to think about that now. No reason to think about anything. Are you warmer now?”

“A little. The coldness feels so deep. Like it’s right down to my bones.”

“You’ll be warm soon. Queenie said so. And Mrs. De Passe.”

“Was Mrs. De Passe here? She scares me.”

“Me, too. But I’m going to have to get used to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It’s a long, long story. I’ll tell you when you’re better.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

“What about my job? Debbie will be wondering where I am!”

“That’s taken care of. When you’re ready, your job will be waiting for you.”

“What about Professor Shimerov? He gets angry if you miss class!”

“He’ll understand. Don’t worry about it.”

“I thought I heard my mother calling. Did I dream that?”

“No, your mom is here. She was sitting right next to you while you were sick.”

“Was I sick?”

“Yes. But you were asleep.”

“It hurts to remember.”

“In the morning, when you wake up, your mom will be here. And Queenie and Gillian, too. They’re all watching over you. Making sure you’re safe.”

“What about you?”

“I’m here right now.”

“Will you be here in the morning, too?”

“I’ll try. I’ll be here when I can be. For as long as I can be.”

“That’s good. That feels good. Touch me there again.”

“Do you remember me making love to you?”

“I... I think so....”

“Just lie here quietly.”

“Brian! It burns! What is that?”

“Those are tears, Justin.”

“They hurt! They feel like fire on my cheeks! Make them stop! Please!”

“I can’t make them stop. I don’t know how to make them stop.”

“I... I’ve never cried before! Why now? What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. Not even Mrs. De Passe.”

“I know what it means! It means I’m human! I don’t want to be a mortal! It hurts! Make it stop!”

“I can’t. I wish I could. There’s nothing I can do. Don’t cry. There’s nothing in this world worth crying for.”

“Then why can’t I stop?”

“I don’t know. Let me wipe them away. There. Is that better?”

“A little. But it still burns! I hate them! They feel like acid.”

“Try not to think about it. Don’t think about anything but now. About the two of us. Here in bed.”

“I’ll try.”

“Feel my body. Feel it touching you. That’s all that matters.”

“All that matters.” Justin sighed. “If I’m mortal, it won’t be too bad. Then I’ll be like you. I’ll forget all about the witch world. I’ll pretend I never had any Power at all. We’ll both be mortal together. That won’t be so terrible. We’ll be the same.”

“Don’t talk about it. Don’t think about it. Just think about this. My lips. My tongue...”

“Brian...”

“Don’t talk at all.”

“I think I’m still dreaming.”

“Then think about that. Your dreams. Because that’s where you’ll always see me. No matter where you are or where I am. That’s where we’ll be together, forever. Even if we can’t be together in the real world, that’s where we can be Bound. Always. In your dreams.”


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's success?

The week of previews for ‘Happy Endings’ went extremely well. 

The play wasn’t great art, but the audiences enjoyed it. And Brent was getting more comfortable in his role. He was even beginning to milk his laughs like a pro. By opening night the production was humming like a well-oiled machine.

“We’re going to run a year!” the playwright, Philip Bruce, crowed as the curtain went down. “You kids did great! And Brent – you were sensational!”

“He’s always sensational!” cooed Brent’s wife, the blonde starlet Jacquie Newsome.

“Thanks, beautiful!” Brent cooed back. “Is everyone ready to go to Sardi’s and wait for the reviews?”

“I’m game!” whooped Irene. “I need a drink – or five!”

“Me, too, doll,” said Howie Wenner, slipping his arm around Irene’s waist. The two had hooked up in Philly and their ‘showmance’ was going hot and heavy.

“What about you, Bri?” asked Brent. “Where’s your producer friend tonight?”

“He’s in Los Angeles, but he’ll be back next week. It isn’t like R.J. hasn’t already seen the show,” said Brian.

“Too bad.” Brent leaned closer. “Jacquie’s sailing for Paris tomorrow for some shopping. Do you think Rosenblum would mind if you asked to borrow his cottage on Fire Island? We could get away for a day, just to relax.”

“I’m pretty busy,” said Brian. “That family stuff I told you about.”

“Oh,” Brent nodded. “Another time. It’s going to be a long run. I know it.”

“Yes,” said Brian. “It will be a long run.”

Brian made his way to the dressing room he shared with Howie and Edgar. Waiting for him there were Michael, Deb, and Deb’s boyfriend, Carl Horvath. He’d given them his comp tickets when he realized that Justin would be in no condition to come to opening night.

“Brian!” Mikey cried, throwing his arms around his neck. “You were really good!”

“Yeah,” said Debbie. “You didn’t tell us the play was funny. I laughed my ass off!”

“It wasn’t a comedy until we got to Boston,” Brian said. “That’s when they realized the comedy parts were working a lot better than the romance parts, so they added more comedy.”

“That Brent Pearson is a real dreamboat,” Debbie swooned. “I told Carl I wouldn’t kick that man out of bed for eating crackers, didn’t I, Carl honey?”

“Yeah,” said Carl, his face deadpan. “That’s what she said.”

“I’m glad you all enjoyed the play,” said Brian. And he really was pleased. It was nice to have people who knew him see him in something successful.

“You want to go with us and get a drink?” Michael suggested.

“There’s a party for the cast at Sardi’s,” said Brian. “It’s a kind of a tradition. Everyone waits for the reviews to come in. I think I should be there.”

“No problem, hon!” said Debbie. “We just wanted to stop by and say hi. And to thank you for the tickets.”

“If you know anyone else who wants to see the play, let me know and I’ll get them tickets, too.”

“I know Emmett and Ted will want to see it,” said Michael.

“Don’t forget Vic,” said Debbie. “And Daphne. She’s a sweet girl. I’m sure she’d love to see the play.”

“I’ll arrange it,” said Brian.

“I’d ask for tickets for Sunshine,” said Deb. “You know, Justin, my cute little waiter? He has a total crush on you, Brian.”

“He does?” Brian swallowed.

“Yeah. But he’s sick, poor kid,” she continued. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but his aunt stopped by to tell me they’re taking him up to stay at his grandma’s place for a while. She’s got a farm up in New England somewhere. They think the fresh air will do him good.”

“That’s too bad,” said Brian. “I... I hope he’s feeling better soon.”

“Me, too, honey,” said Debbie. “Well, thanks again! Let’s scram out of here and let the man get to his party.”

“You were great,” whispered Michael, giving Brian a final hug. “I knew you could do it!”

“Thanks again, Mikey.”

Brian took off his make-up and considered what Debbie had said. 

Gillian had told him a few days before that one option was to send Justin up to the Holroyd family farm in Massachusetts. His grandmother, Morgan, was a powerful witch in her own right – perhaps as powerful as Bianca De Passe – and she felt that if Justin were to heal, he needed peace and quiet, as well as her herbal remedies.

Brian had been going to see Justin as often as he could, but sometimes when they tried to make love the boy seemed distracted or even in pain. That worried Brian, but it also greatly worried Gillian.

“Justin should be getting stronger every time the two of you Bond,” she had told him. “But that’s not happening. He almost seems weaker after you leave. And then he cries. All those horrible tears! And then he frets because of the tears!”

“Are they really that painful?” Brian asked. “He told me they feel like acid on his skin.”

Gillian shrugged. “He says it hurts to cry. Mrs. De Passe can’t find anything about it in the old books. And Professor Bruckner has written to some of his contacts in the Far East to see if they’ve ever seen such a case. But so far there’s no further information.”

“I wish there was something I could do!” Brian wanted to shout out his frustration. “I feel so fucking helpless!” 

“We all do,” said Gillian, touching his arm. “Perhaps some time away from the Village will do him good. There is too much disharmony here. Too many bad memories. Getting away might clear his senses.”

“You mean it would help Justin to get away from me?” Brian retorted. “Remember that we’re Bound together!”

“But if Justin is no longer a warlock...” Gillian let the sentence hang in the air.

“His mother thinks I’m hurting him,” Brian said bluntly. “She told me so herself. That I’m to blame. She said that if Justin and I hadn’t made love, then none of this would have happened. That he’d be with Bruckner and all would be well. Do you believe that?”

Gillian had hesitated. She’d come to like Brian, but she couldn’t lie to him. “Jennifer has a point. None of this has gone the way it was planned to. But sometimes Fate is out of our hands. We can plan for things, but that doesn’t mean our desires will come to pass. Do you understand, Brian?”

“In other words, you’re saying Justin and I shouldn’t be together?” Brian’s tone was turning dark.

“No, I didn’t say that, Brian,” said Gillian, her voice low and soothing. It wouldn’t do to have Padraig Conn’s son angry with her. Brian was a powerful warlock, even though he still didn’t seem to realize it. “I said that some things are beyond even our Powers – yours, mine, and Justin’s. Even beyond that of the Elders. All we can do is wait for Time and Fate to run their course. And hope that Justin heals.”

“And if he doesn’t heal?”

Gillian had sighed deeply. “That is in the hands of the Goddess.”

Brian left the theater and walked to Sardi’s. 

It was a beautiful night. He had money in his pocket and a new wardrobe. He was young, handsome, and had his pick of any good-looking man – or woman – he wanted. His career was going exactly the way he’d always hoped it would. He was in a play on Broadway that looked like a sure hit. And next week he would go into a studio and film a screen test for the lead role in the hottest movie project of the year, ‘On the Road.’ He was on top of the world!

So why was he so fucking miserable?


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening night party at Sardi's.
> 
> Only three more chapters left of this story. I hope you've enjoyed it!

“Brian!” Howie Wenner called from across the room at Sardi’s. “Over here!”

“We saved you a seat, dear boy,” said Edgar Phillips-Smythe. “And a glass of bubbly!”

“Thanks, but I hate champagne,” said Brian. “Are the reviews in yet?”

“We’re still waiting,” said Irene, who was welded to Howie’s side. “Brent is as nervous as a cat.”

“He’s got a lot riding on the success of this show,” Brian commented. “R.J. told me he’s hoping that if it’s a hit, they’ll make it into a movie that he and his wife can star in.”

Howie sniffed. “Brent Pearson and Jacquie Newsome as the new Tracy and Hepburn? I don’t think so!”

“The studios are always looking for a gimmick,” said Irene. “A married couple doing a romantic comedy is a pretty good one.”

“Too bad Jacquie can’t act her way out of a paperbag!” Howie cracked. “But Brent has surprised me. He’s actually almost good.”

“He’s trying,” said Brian. “But he told me he’s not really interested in being a serious theater actor. He’s a movie star and that’s all he wants to be.”

“And what do you want to be, dear boy?” Edgar asked pointedly. “Those producers from Hollywood aren’t exactly casting a new version of ‘Hamlet.’”

“No,” Brian admitted. “But the way I look at it, acting is acting. I don’t want to limit myself. I love the stage, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love doing movies just as much.”

“Not to mention it pays a lot more,” Howie pointed out. “And you get your pick of all those Hollywood starlets!”

“Hey!” Irene pretended to smack Howie in the head. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“I love chopped liver, baby!” Howie laughed.

“I need a drink,” said Brian. “Something a little heftier than that gassy champagne. So if you’ll excuse me...”

Brian threaded his way through the crowd. Sardi’s was the place where everyone in the theater gathered for special occasions, so the restaurant was packed with actors, production crew, producers, backers, and all their friends. Many people stopped Brian to congratulate him, pat him on the back, offer him champagne – and offer him other things, too.

“Brian, my beauty!” said Daniel Covington, the set designer, in his usual black turtleneck and mascara. “You don’t have a drink yet.”

“I’m trying to get to the bar.”

“What a mob scene!” said Daniel, flipping his hand. “But that’s the way it always is when they smell a hit. Everyone wants to be there for the reflected glory. The last production I designed was a total flopperoo. You should have been at the opening night party. It was like a funeral for an uncle everyone hated! By the time the reviews came in the only people left were the playwright and those too drunk to find their way home! The show closed three days later. An unmitigated disaster!” Daniel made a face. “Of course, my set was magnificent!”

Brian smiled. “Of course.”

“I don’t see your cute little cousin here,” said Daniel, arching his eyebrow. “Is he still interested in set design?”

“He couldn’t be here tonight,” said Brian, his heart lurching. “Justin’s interested in art in general. But I appreciate the way you let him hang around backstage in Boston.”

“It was no bother at all, darling,” said Daniel. “I’m always at the service of someone so young and... artistic, if you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Brian nodded. ‘Artistic’ was one of those code words, like ‘flamboyant’ and ‘temperamental,’ that meant homosexual. “Now I need to get that drink.”

Brian made his way to the far end of the bar, well away from the party, and ordered a double Bourbon, straight up. As he bolted down the booze he noticed an elegantly dressed, artfully made-up woman sitting alone on the next barstool, nursing an Old Fashioned.

“Did the play go well?” she asked. Her voice was low and husky, with more than a hint of an accent. Brian thought of Irish coffee for some reason.

“Looks like a hit,” said Brian. He caught the bartender’s eye and pointed to his glass for a refill.

“Success is a balm for many wounds, is it not?” she said.

“I guess,” said Brian. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you, surely?” she said. “I think you know many things, Mr. Kinney.”

“Do I know you?” said Brian, warily.

“Not yet,” she said, toying with her glass with manicured fingers. “But I know you. I know you better than you can imagine.”

“A fan?” Brian smirked.

“If you will,” she said, tilting her head. Her eyes were very blue, almost translucent. “I find the theater in itself dull. But actors are a different story. I find them bracing.”

“I bet you do,” said Brian. That was one thing about New York, it was full of loonies.

“I find you bracing, Mr. Kinney,” she purred. Then she leaned closer, close enough for Brian to smell her perfume. It was like grass or hay, with an undertone of something darker, muskier.

“Listen, lady,” said Brian. “I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’m not buying tonight.”

“I’m not selling anything,” she said with a throaty laugh. “And I’m not a lady!”

“I know,” said Brian, setting down his empty glass. “But I’m not buying that, either, buster.”

Brian stood up and walked towards the door. A cheer went up from the producers’ table. The reviews were in. ‘Happy Endings’ was a smash, but Brian didn’t wait around to read his notices.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin leaves New York.

“Justin! We have to go! Now!” urged Jennifer. “The train is ready to board!”

“Another couple of minutes, Mom,” Justin begged. “Please! I know he’ll be here.”

“Perhaps we should go down to the platform,” suggested Gillian. 

“One more minute!” said Justin, digging in his heels.

The last place he wanted to go was up to the farm outside of Salem to stay with his grandmother, aunt, and great-aunt. He didn’t even know these women. Yes, they were probably very nice ladies. Or witches. Or whatever. But the thought of spending an entire summer with them was more than Justin could take.

Especially an entire summer without Brian.

“Justin!” Jennifer’s voice was sharp. “Come on!”

Justin was still so weak he had scarcely been able to walk from the taxi into the train station. He kept saying he was fine, that he didn’t need any help, but his legs were wobbly, and the stairs like a looming obstacle. 

Jennifer had a tight hold on Justin’s arm, propping him up. Once they got to the farm and her mother, Aunt Morgan, and her sister June were able to take over Justin’s recovery, then she would finally be able to rest a little easier. Then she could go back to her beautiful house in Connecticut and try to salvage what was left of her marriage – if there was anything left. But it will never be over, thought Jennifer. Justin will never be the warlock he was before, but he also couldn’t rejoin the mortal world. He’d never fit into Greenwich, Connecticut again, that much was clear. And now Molly was beginning to show signs that her Power, which had been latent throughout her childhood, was developing along with the other manifestations of puberty. Molly becoming a witch – that would be the last straw for Craig!

“I don’t know why he didn’t come,” said Justin, mournfully. He felt a trace of moisture leaking from the corner of his eye. He tried to blink it back, but to no avail. The tear felt like fire on his pale, tender cheek. “Damn it!” He wiped the curse away with the back of his hand, but it burned there, too. It burned wherever it touched him.

“Brian is very busy,” said Gillian. “With the play being such a big success and all, he probably couldn’t get away.”

“But he doesn’t have a performance this afternoon. He doesn’t have to be at the theater until this evening,” he insisted. “I told him exactly when to come. Exactly when I’d be leaving!” But Justin looked up in time to see Gillian and his mother exchange knowing glances. “No,” he whispered. “You didn’t.”

“Come, darling,” said Jennifer. “We want to get a good seat.”

Justin backed away, pulling out of his mother’s grasp. His head was dizzy with the noise of the station and the press of people heading for the platforms. “You didn’t send Brian my message, did you? Tell me the truth!”

“Justin, you’re making a scene,” said Jennifer. “People are looking this way!”

“I don’t care!” Justin cried. “You both lied to me! I hate you! Liars!”

Gillian shook her head as Jennifer reached out for her son. “It was for your own good! There’s no telephone on the farm, but you can write to Brian from Massachusetts. Maybe when you’re stronger he can come up and see you – for a day or two.”

“I need Brian to make me stronger!” Justin shouted. “How can I get better without him? We’re Bound! Can’t you understand that?”

“But you weren’t getting better,” Gillian reasoned. “Mrs. De Passe and Professor Bruckner and all the Elders and I agree that this is the best thing for you. You need rest. You need to be removed from unsettling influences.”

“You all agreed? This is my life you’re all ‘agreeing’ about! Brian isn’t an ‘unsettling influence’!” Justin’s head was throbbing. “He’s my lover! I... I need him! And he needs me! We need each other... and... you can’t... can’t...” Justin’s feet would no longer hold his weight. Jennifer and Gillian both tried to hold him up, to keep him from falling to the hard, stone floor.

“Let me do that,” said a voice. There was Power in that voice and both witches shrank back.

Brian looked large and fearsome, his face stern. But when he looked at Justin, his expression changed. He leaned down and took the boy in his arms. “I’m here. I heard your heart calling to me.”

“Brian.” Justin’s eyes opened slowly. “I knew you’d come. They’re trying to take me away from you.”

“So I see,” said Brian.

“Don’t let them,” Justin breathed. “Don’t...”

Brian kissed Justin softly. “You must get better.”

A man in a policeman’s uniform came up, his face full of disgust. “Hey! You can’t do that kind of stuff here! Move along or I’ll run you two in! This is a public place! Goddamn pansies!”

Brian turned and glared at the man. “Be still!” he commanded. Then he waved his right hand over his head. “All of this place, be still!”

And the cop and all the passersby and the entire station suddenly came to a halt. People stopped where they stood and even the trains below were frozen on their tracks. Only Brian and Justin and Gillian and Jennifer were unaffected.

“Brian,” Gillian warned. “This is a dangerous business! Release this place!”

“I will in a moment,” said Brian. “But I have more important business here. Justin – look at me.”

Justin looked into his eyes. Brian’s eyes seemed as green as the earth, deep and ancient. “Yes.”

“You must go. As much as I hate it, you need to get well. I don’t know how to make you well. Your grandmother and the other women might be able to help you, so you must give them that chance.”

“But I don’t want to leave the Village! I don’t want to leave you!”

“I know,” Brian whispered. “But no matter where you are, we’re still Bound. That’s forever and a day and no one can change that. I believe it. Do you?”

Justin nodded. “Yes, I believe it.”

“Then we can’t let something as unimportant as Time and Space hinder us. Wherever you go and no matter who you’re with, I’ll still be there. Nothing can come between us. Nothing.”

“But... but what if I’m mortal?” Justin voiced his greatest fear. 

“What if you are? It makes no difference to me,” said Brian. “Does it make a difference to you?”

“No.” Justin felt another hot tear making its escape and he swiped at it with his sleeve. “I can’t stop the fucking things! I wish I could, but I can’t!”

Brian kissed the angry red trail the tear had made on Justin’s cheek. “One day they’ll stop. We’ll be together and you’ll never have a reason to cry again. I promise.”

“One day,” said Justin. “But what will I do until then?”

“Dream,” said Brian. “That’s where I’ll be. In your dreams. Close your eyes and we’ll be together.” 

“And when I wake up – will I remember?”

“I don’t know,” Brian confessed. “I hope you’ll remember. Because I can never forget. So go now. I’ll be watching over you.”

Brian kissed Justin long and lingeringly. Then he stepped away – and he was gone.

The train station lurched back to life, with people rushing by. The policeman shook himself and then walked past, slightly dazed.

“Come now,” said Gillian, picking up Justin’s suitcase. “It’s time.”

Justin nodded. Jennifer took one of Justin’s arms and Gillian the other and they gently led him down to the platform to catch the train for Massachusetts.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian prepares to leave for Hollywood.

June 1958

 

Brian’s screen test was on a Monday afternoon shortly after R.J. came back from the coast. R.J. and the two producers from Hollywood drove him to a studio in Astoria, Queens, where they broadcast a lot of television shows. There they had a simple set-up with a plain backdrop and a wooden stool. They had Brian sit on it.

“Aren’t you going to dress me up in a crazy costume or some such bullshit?” Brian asked as a gruff older man powdered down his face. “And is this all the make-up I get? No rouge? Or mascara?”

“It’s just for the shine from the hot lights,” said R.J. “You don’t need heavy stage make-up for this. They want to see what you really look like.”

“I didn’t know they were casting a horror movie!” Brian cracked. “You want my best side?” he asked the make-up man. “Let me take off my pants!”

What Brian didn’t know was that Charles de la Tour and Donnie Schwartz had told the cameraman to roll film from the moment Brian walked out onto the make-shift set. They wanted to catch him being himself, before he started ‘acting.’ They wanted to see what the camera would reveal. Because that’s the way they were planning to film ‘On the Road’ – in a naturalistic style, without make-up or costumes or even sets. They were going to film it like an Italian or French film, with hand-held cameras as they followed the journey of their characters, Dean and Sal, with only a copy of the novel and an outline of the major scenes. They’d hired a young director, David Ellison, who’d apprenticed in England and who had some innovative ideas about making a new kind of motion picture. And Ellison agreed with de la Tour and Schwartz that he wanted a new kind of actor to star in it.

Brian also wasn’t aware that the bearded guy who was standing around with the producers was this young hot-shot director. He looked more like a go-fer, the guy in the theater who was usually the producer’s bum nephew who needed a job so they paid him to stand around, waiting to be sent out for coffee.

Brian perched on the stool, calling out jokes to R.J. and insults to the producers, wondering when the screen test would begin. Finally, Charles de la Tour asked him to stand up and slowly turn around. So Brian stood up and slowly turned around.

“Fine, very fine. Thank you, Brian,” said de la Tour. “That’s all we need.”

“Hold it!” Brian blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me? What do you mean that’s all you need? I haven’t done a fucking thing but sit here! Isn’t there a script? Don’t you want me to read for you?”

“I said we’re finished, Brian,” said de la Tour. “This is a screen test, not a theatrical audition. We’ve seen you on stage, my dear. We know you can recite lines on cue. But this is a film. We want to see what you look like. How you move. How at ease you are in front of the camera. And we have.”

“You mean you’ve been filming all this time?” Brian looked directly into the camera lens and realized that a red light was on. “Are you still filming? Are you shitting me?”

“Okay!” Ellison called out. “That’s a wrap, folks!” He walked over to Brian’s stool. “Now we’re no longer filming. For real.”

“Goddamn it!” Brian said to himself. He’d completely fucked it up!

“You did great,” said Ellison. Brian still didn’t know that this was the director and Ellison didn’t clue him in. If Brian was a Method actor, David Ellison was certainly a Method director.

“Bullshit!” said Brian. “They didn’t even want to hear me read! I know the entire fucking book by heart!”

Ellison shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll see you around.”

R.J. came over and patted Brian on the back. “Let’s go back into Manhattan and I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Make it a fucking double!” said Brian.

“Don’t worry, Brian,” said R.J. “Motion pictures are a different world from the theater.”

But Brian left the studio certain that he’d ruined his big chance to be a movie star.

 

***

 

Brian had moved back into R.J.’s extra apartment in Hell’s Kitchen reluctantly. He didn’t want R.J. in his face all the time, but it was convenient to the theater and he didn’t have to bother looking for another place or for furniture or any of that domestic rigmarole. He just pulled his boxes out of storage at Michael’s, unpacked his books, records, and clothes, and settled in for a long run in a hit play on Broadway.

Two weeks after the screen test Brian got a call from his agent, Manny Weissman, an hour before the Wednesday matinee performance.

“Brian, are you sitting down?”

“Why?” he smirked. “Did I win the lottery?”

“Very funny! I should try booking you into Grossinger’s as a comedian! You’d kill!”

“Look, Manny, I’m getting ready to go on. Is this something that can wait until later?”

“No,” said the agent. “It can’t wait! You better get hold of the producers of that farpotchket play and tell them they’ve got to find another boy, because you need to be in Los Angeles on Friday!”

“What the fuck?” Brian shook the receiver, certain he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Those two feygeles from Hollywood, de la Tour and Schwartz, just called me,” said Manny. “They’re offering you the lead role in ‘On the Road’!”

Brian was stunned. “On the level?”

“On the fucking level!” Manny shouted. “They want you in their office on Friday to sign the contract!”

“I can’t believe it,” said Brian.

“Neither can I!” Manny cackled. “Do you know what my percentage of your salary is going to be, kid? I can buy Eloise a new sable coat!”

By the time the Wednesday evening performance had finished, the news of Brian’s casting in the biggest film of the year was all over Hollywood and just filtering down Broadway. Walter Winchell was making it the lead in his Thursday column and ‘Variety’ was putting it on the front page – “New ‘Dean’ is ‘On the Road’ Discovery!”

“This is splendid, my dear boy!” cried Edgar Phillips-Smythe. “Simply splendid!”

“Lucky bastard,” huffed Howie Wenner. “But you got a face for the movies, Bri. Me? I got a face for ‘Wanted’ posters!”

“Congratulations,” said Brent, offering Brian his hand. “Too bad we never made it out to Fire Island. But I’ll see you in L.A. later this year. Jacquie and I signed up to do the film version of ‘Happy Endings.’ I thought maybe you’d take over my role after I leave the show, but it looks like I’ll need a new understudy now.”

“Looks like it,” said Brian. “Thanks, Brent. I appreciate it.”

“You’ll do good,” said Brent. “Just watch your step. Don’t let the sharks out there eat you alive.”

“I’ll try not to.”

The cast took Brian out to ‘21’ after the show and wined and dined him. It seemed that everyone there had heard the news and wanted to say hello to Brian, shake Brian’s hand, buy Brian a drink. It was like opening night all over again, except this time it wasn’t about the play, it was about Brian himself. 

But Brian felt like a fraud. He hadn’t done anything yet. Hadn’t filmed a single frame of ‘On the Road.’ Yet everyone was treating him like a star.

R.J was waiting for him back at the apartment.

“I thought I’d see you at the theater,” said Brian. “Charles and Donnie must have called you to let you know the news.”

“I knew you had the part the day of your screen test,” said R.J. He was nursing a long, brown French cigarette, slowly inhaling and then blowing out the blue smoke. “It was a foregone conclusion. They only wanted some footage to show the head of the studio.”

“You knew? And you didn’t say anything to me? Why not?”

The smoke curled upward. “I wanted to savor these last few precious days.”

“That I was in New York?”

“No,” said R.J., sadly. “That you were a real person. The priceless days before you became famous. Before I lost you absolutely to that other, glittering, phony world.”

“That’s bullshit!” Brian snapped.

“No, it’s not.” R.J. got up and put on his coat. 

“Where the hell are you going?” asked Brian. He was more than a little drunk and, therefore, very horny. R.J. may not have been his first choice as a sex partner, but he was always available.

“I’m going home. To the Dakota,” R.J. said. “I’m going to put on my Maria Callas records and sit in a comfortable chair and close my eyes and listen. Wallow in my success at helping to create a new star. And wallow in my misery at helping to create a new star. At creating you, my love.”

Brian ran his fingers through his hair. R.J. was so moody lately and he couldn’t figure out why. “You know what? You’re cuckoo!”

“Yes, I probably am,” R.J. sighed. He kissed Brian lightly. “Goodbye, Baby. Enjoy Hollywood. Enjoy your new fame. Be a good movie star. And if you must be a bad boy, don’t get caught at it. Especially don’t get caught with any beautiful blond boys. Because that’s the one thing they will never, ever forgive you for.”

And R.J. walked out, leaving Brian alone.

He went to the window of the apartment and stared out of it. The full moon was just beginning to rise over New York City.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evening Primrose Farm.
> 
> June 1958.
> 
> The Finale.
> 
> Thank you for reading "Bell, Book & Candle." I hope you've enjoyed it!

June 1958

 

Evening Primrose Farm, located in the countryside outside of Salem, was quiet and peaceful.

Too quiet and peaceful as far as Justin was concerned.

And boring. That’s what it was, especially after living for the past six months in Greenwich Village.

Justin had to admit that it was beautiful on the farm. The warm summer sun shone down brightly on the herb and flower gardens, the bees buzzed in the fragrant rows, the cats prowled around the house and the barn, and the frogs jumped in and out of the cool water of the pond. And Justin lazed on a hammock strung between two oak trees and read. And read. And read.

He put aside his book with a sigh and picked up his sketchpad and pencil. He drew the house with its crooked gables. Drew the barn painted with magical symbols. Drew the white cat with her new kittens. Drew Great-Aunt Morgan sorting and drying her herbs and Grandmother Gwynyth stirring her cauldron. And he drew Jennifer’s sister June, keeping the books at the kitchen table or meeting with the mortals who came to the farm to consult with her about their aches and pains, both physical and emotional. He drew them all. And then he drew them over again.

When he began to feel a little stronger he walked a mile over to the next farm, Chipmunk Hill, owned by another pair of witches, a mother and daughter, Sapphira and Leona Washington. There had been no warlocks in the Washington family for many generations, so they always made a big fuss over Justin, offering him homemade muffins stuffed with preserved fruits from their trees and vineyard.

Leona, a tall and stately woman with smooth chocolate skin and sharp black eyes, was Aunt June’s best friend. She kept a blood bay mare she allowed Justin to ride across the fields and into the woods as far as the river. The mare was old and slow-moving, but at least it got Justin away from the women for a few hours.

But the fields and woods were even more quiet and peaceful than being at the farm.

There was nothing for Justin to do but think. Think about his life. Think about his past. Think about his future.

And think about Brian.

Every night before he went to bed he wrote to Brian. In the morning he put the letter in the mailbox at the end of the long dirt drive that led to the main road.

But Brian never wrote back.

He got letters from Gillian and Queenie and Daphne and Ethan. He even got a get well card from Debbie, signed by Vic, Michael, Emmett, and Ted. Professor Bruckner mailed him packages of books with encouraging notes tucked in them. And his mother wrote regularly, mainly asking how he felt and whether he was eating enough.

“You ought to get a telephone in here. That way I could call my mother in Connecticut. Or... maybe a friend,” Justin said as he sat and played chess with Aunt June. They played every night after dinner. “And a television set, too.”

“We have a radio,” said Great-Aunt Morgan as she knitted in her wingback chair. “I remember when we bought it. Everyone said we needed it to hear news about the war. But there was all that talking all the time! You couldn’t hear yourself think when the thing was on!”

“But listening to the symphony is lovely sometimes,” Grandmother Gwynyth offered meekly. She almost never contradicted her elder sister.

“That’s what we have a phonograph for,” Morgan said firmly.

And so they always waited until Morgan went up to bed before they turned on the old cathedral-style radio.

“I know you’re bored here,” said June one evening after the two older woman had retired. Justin had given up halfway through the chess game. He just didn’t care who won anymore. “But this is part of your healing.”

“Boring me to death is making me better? Emptying my mind is all about healing?” Justin sniffed. “Sure!”

“Yes,” said June. “It is. Your head was full of confusion. Full of the noise of the Void.”

Justin shuddered. “The Void wasn’t noisy. It was... nothing!”

“No, it wasn’t nothing,” June corrected. “The Void may seem empty, but it’s filled with rage and pain. Filled with souls who are trapped or who have been banished there. They have been reduced to their primal essence, so compressed that it seems a blank. But you know it wasn’t a blank, Justin. You could hear that rage. Feel that pain. And you almost became part of it.”

“Stop!” Justin put his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“I know you don’t,” said June. “Gillian and the others didn’t want to force you to think about it. But I believe you must face it one day. You know that I’m a healer?”

“Yes. I know.”

Justin knew that Morgan grew and nurtured the herbs, while Gwynyth made the salves and ointments they sold to shops around the country, including the one in Greenwich Village, and Aunt June handled the business end of the farm. But June also did healings – she had the gift, Morgan said proudly, bragging that her niece was better than even Mathilda or Mrs. De Passe at curing people. It wasn’t until he’d been there for a while that Justin realized one of the reasons Gillian had wanted him to come to Evening Primrose Farm wasn’t just because of the talents of Morgan and Gwynyth, but those of his Aunt June.

“You went to a place where almost no one, witch or mortal, has ever returned,” she said. “But you did return, Justin. And being in that place and returning from it – that will either make you stronger or make you fade completely. Your Power will either survive and prevail – or it will dwindle to that of the frailest of mortals.”

“I don’t care about my Power anymore,” said Justin, sullenly. “What good has it ever done me? It almost killed me, almost killed Ethan and Pyewacket, too! And now I’ve lost the only thing I’ve ever really wanted!”

“What’s that?” asked June, already knowing the answer.

“Brian,” he whispered. “I know witches can’t feel love, so I must not be a warlock anymore, because I love Brian. I do! Nothing can change that. Every minute I’m away from him is torture. It’s like a hungry feeling that never goes away. And I know I’ll never see him again.”

June looked into Justin’s eyes, which were beginning to become dangerously moist. “Why do you think that, my dear?”

“Because I know it’s true,” said Justin in a defeated voice. “I write to him every day, but he never answers. And today I got this letter from Ethan.” Justin took the envelope out of his pocket. It was twisted like he’d been worrying it in his nervous hands. “He sent me this clipping from a New York newspaper. It’s all about how Brian got cast in a big, important movie and how he’s going to Hollywood. According to the article, he’s already there by now. I was sending my letters to the theater where his play was running, but now I don’t even know where to send them! I don’t know where he lives or what he’s doing in Hollywood, but whatever it is, it’s without me. He’s left me behind. I doubt he’ll ever think about me ever again.”

June sat and stared into the fireplace. One of the cats was sleeping on the hearth rug and another was carefully washing her paws. Through the open window they could hear the hooting of a barn owl. “You two are Bound, Justin. That means he can’t forget you, even if he were to try.”

“Being Bound is bullshit!” Justin cried. “It’s fucking meaningless if we aren’t together!”

“You are together,” said June. “Bound together.”

“No!” Justin stood up and knocked over the chess board, sending the old ivory pieces spinning across the floor. The cats went running into the shadows on the edges of the room. “Bound is fucked up! I don’t believe it! What good is being Bound if we aren’t together now? I don’t want to wait and spend eternity with Brian in some Isle of the Blessed or Land of Shadows or wherever witches go when they die! I’m alive now and I want to be with my lover! I... I want to be happy in this life!” Justin sank down on his knees. “Is that so much to ask?”

June shook her head. “No, my dear, it isn’t too much to ask. But sometimes we must be patient. We don’t always obtain our heart’s desire until after we have walked through Fire and breathed Water and slept in the Earth – that’s what we witches say.”

“Fire, Water, and Earth!” Justin spat. “That’s fine for witches! But what about warlocks? Our Element is the Air! Every night I stare at the moon and wish I could fly to Brian! Or that he could fly to me! I dream that we meet high above the world, riding on the wind! I feel the air on my face and I see Brian’s hair blown back, wild and free. Our hands are clasped together and we’re crowned by the stars!” Justin wiped away a single burning tear. “Then I wake up in my crummy little room, in this crummy old house, on this crummy farm! Wake up to another lousy day! I dread every day I have to live! And I curse the fucking day I was born!”

June took his hand and pulled Justin to his feet. She chanted a spell to ward off evil. “Never say that, Justin, ever! If you were stronger a wish like that might take hold and cause all kinds of mischief!”

“But I’m not stronger!” said Justin, jerking his hand away. “I can’t do spells anymore! I can’t do anything! I can’t even curse myself! It’s useless! I’m useless! Fucking worthless!”

June gazed at her nephew sadly. “I think you should go to bed now.” She turned off the old radio and stirred the dying embers of the fire. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Perhaps we can go into Salem and do some shopping. Would you like that? Leona can drive us.” Evening Primrose Farm had no motorcar, but the Washingtons had an old truck they often used to carry their herbs into town to be shipped.

Justin took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was a brat. But I’m so frustrated. I’m... just... hopeless.”

“Goodnight, Justin. Put this under your pillow. It will help you sleep.” June handed him a sachet made of blue silk.

Justin sniffed it. It smelled sweet and soothing. “What is it?”

“Rosemary,” she said.

“‘For remembrance’?” Justin knew his Shakespeare.

“Perhaps,” said June. “And for pleasant dreams. ‘Goodnight, sweet prince!’” June knew her Shakespeare, too.

Justin trudged up to the little garret room where he slept under the eaves. The electricity in the house didn’t reach higher than the ground floor, so he turned up an old oil lamp that cast an eerie glow over his bed. This was the same room where his mother and Aunt June had slept as girls. His mother hated the farm and left it as soon as she could, while Aunt June never wanted to live anywhere else. Two sisters – one rejecting the world of witches and the other embracing it and finding a fulfilling life.

Justin thought about June as he undressed. It was obvious that she and Leona Washington were more than just friends, but like so much in the world, both witch and mortal, it was never spoken of.

Like it could never have been spoken of if he and Brian were in Hollywood, in that world of fame and fortune. Never to live together. Never to be seen together. Never to look at each other and allow anyone else to know what they meant to each other. That was like being in the Void – all noise and nothingness at the same time.

Rage and pain. Pain and rage.

That’s why Brian left. Justin knew it, but it was still hard to accept. Brian didn’t answer his letters because every word would have been an arrow into Justin’s raw heart, knowing that Brian’s destiny was somewhere apart from Justin.

Except in dreams.

“That’s where I’ll be. In your dreams. Close your eyes and we’ll be together.”

And that’s where Brian had been, every night. In Justin’s dreams. As he said he would be.

Justin looked out the window at the stars. He thought he heard a sound on the breeze. Something calling to him. Something wild and free. A white cloud flew across the moon, faster than the wind.

Justin got into bed. Then he slipped the sachet of rosemary under his pillow and closed his eyes.

 

*Fin*


End file.
